


A Rat of Junk

by abacadea



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Bromance, Developing Friendships, Enemies to Friends, Friendship, Gen, Overwatch Family, Post-Fall of Overwatch
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-29
Updated: 2018-01-30
Packaged: 2019-02-23 09:15:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 30,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13187004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abacadea/pseuds/abacadea
Summary: Though he's left the Outback, the Outback never left him. Junkrat has trouble fitting in with the agents of Overwatch, try as he might. There being omnics among them doesn't make it any easier either.





	1. Peanut Butter Fudge

Under the guise of night, a lone figure lurked in the shadows cast after streetlights. He sprung across a lit path and pressed his back against a stone column. He leaned slightly to his side, stealing a glance from behind a corner. Two humanoid omnics stood guard at the gaping entrance of a large building.

He retracted his head and pressed a finger to a small silicone device in his ear.

"Winston," he spoke in a hushed tone.

" _McCree,"_ a deep voice on the other end greeted back. _"Anything to report?"_

"Turns out the lead had somethin' to it. Ain't no Talon, but seems to be Null Sector leftovers. Tracked them down to a candy factory."

" _A candy factory?"_

"Probably just the humble beginnings of a resurgence."

" _Hm. Do you need backup?"_

"Hey, if we had the manpower you'd have sent me with some. HQ's a ghost town, I bet."

" _A little lonely here, yeah,"_ Winston chuckled. _"I could go. Athena can watch over the HQ for a bit."_

"I appreciate the offer, partner, but ol' McCree's got this. Small candy factory, probably ten men at most. No problem at all. I'll see if I can't find you some peanut butter fudge."

" _Well..."_ A small pause. _"All right, but be careful."_

"Yes, ma."

He heard a small light-hearted snort before the communication device became silent in his ear. McCree snuck another peek at the entrance. This time he could see the patrols inside the factory—Exactly three of them inside. With the two outside, there was a total of five omnics to contend with near the entrance alone.

If he could just get them all in his line of sight, he could take them all out at once. From his current position, it was perfect. This would be easy. Too easy. McCree hadn't survived this long to not have developed some sort of danger sense.

Keeping his back to the wall, he quickly but quietly made his way to its other end. He checked behind the corner to see a dark, empty alleyway. He continued into it to arrive at a new, albeit a little further, hiding spot. He was to the right of the guards now, well out of their sights.

Amateurs. Never check their peripherals.

He skidded out of hiding and launched himself at the closest omnic, shattering its neck and head on the ground. The other omnic jumped and squeaked with shock—Definitely unused to combat. McCree swept his leg underneath the omnic. As the omnic hit the floor with its metallic back, McCree picked up the first omnic's rifle and jammed its stock into the second omnic's face. It buzzed erratically before becoming still.

Without missing a beat, McCree pushed himself up against the wall. He listened. Nothing but footsteps, steady and calm. He hadn't been noticed yet.

He gently pulled one of the fallen omnic's foot away from the entrance as he removed his gun from its holster. He tracked the movements of the three omnics, until all three of the omnics came within 5 meters of each other—An opportunity.

He turned on the ball of his foot to reveal himself in the middle of the entrance and fired three shots in almost inhuman succession. Three dead omnics fell to the floor with loud clangs. The sounds echoed in the dark factory. No doubt the sound would attract the attention of the rest of the guards. McCree braced himself for more omnic guards to attack him all at once. He found cover from behind a stack of boxes and waited.

_BOOOM!_

McCree blinked. _Boom?_ He worried that the factory would blow up with him in it.

_BOOOOOM!_

He heard the echoes of a maniacal cackle. It came from further in. McCree made haste towards the source of the voice.

"Piece of junk!" he heard the manic voice shout with gleeful disdain. "Off with your... with all your limbs! AHAHAHA!"

Amidst the conveyer belts and by the large taffy-pulling machinery were two men, one large and the other scrawny. McCree could tell immediately that the large one was a major powerhouse, taking hits like they were nothing more than insect bites. The scrawny one was... just as terrifying, really—throwing his bombs with reckless abandon. One exploded very near him and he did not bat an eye. No, in fact, he threw a mine to the floor, triggered it to explode _right underneath him_ , and propelled himself into the air to rain bombs from above. How he did not injure himself was a damn miracle and impossibility.

His descent started soon after. His peg leg landed on an omnic's detached chest plate, sending him slipping backwards. An omnic took this opportunity to smash the man's face with the butt of its gun.

With trained reflex, McCree drew his gun and shot the omnic through its torso, causing it to stagger sideways and fell its attack on empty floor instead. The scrawny man threw a grenade at the omnic before rolling away and climbing to his feet. Amber eyes turned to meet McCree's, confused and surprised.

The cowboy gave a small wave, hopefully received as a friendly gesture. The scrawny one did not respond, and instead tapped on his companion's back and pointed at the cowboy. The larger man only briefly looked at the cowboy before resuming the slaughter of omnics. McCree decided to make his way towards the duo, shooting down omnics that hindered his passage.

"Hey there," McCree greeted as he shot at omnic after omnic. "You two seem to be havin' a hog-killin' time."

"Oi!" the scrawny one yelled at him. "You lookin' for trouble?! Huh?! Talkin' 'bout killin' my pal Hog?!"

"So you're Hog?" McCree turned briefly to the larger man.

The large man grunted. "Not your business."

"I suppose it ain't, but I do have a proposition for you two."

"Oooh!" the scrawny one turned to the cowboy excitedly. "You need somethin' blown up, mate?"

The larger man swiveled around and threw a large— _horrifyingly_ large—hook in the direction of his companion. The scrawny one did not flinch at all as the hook zipped just a few inches above his head, piercing multiple omnics behind him.

"Talk later," the larger man warned gruffly as he retracted his hook.

The scrawny man pouted, but was more than happy to resume exploding more omnics. A little _too_ happy, but McCree wasn't going to complain. He was effective and seemed to understand how to keep his grenades away from friendlies.

Eventually, the last of the omnics fell to ground, and the scrawny man jabbed his peg leg through its face. A cackle of electricity erupted from the puncture. The man hissed and jerked his metallic leg away.

"Hoo-wee," the scrawny man shook his right leg a few times, as if trying to regain sensation. "What a doozy!"

The large man said nothing and made no gesture to indicate that he was communicating at all.

"Oh, right," the scrawny man said as if he was responding to something. He turned to McCree. "What can we blow ya' for?"

The large man smacked his companion across the back of his head.

"What the hell, Roadie?!" the scrawny man whined.

"Don't talk like that." The large man's deep, gravely voice was definitely as intimidating as his appearance.

"I asked him if we could blow somethin' up for him! What'd I say wrong now?!"

The large man sighed, head turned slightly to the sky in resignation. His companion crinkled his nose at him and returned his attention to the cowboy.

"Well?"

McCree was still processing the conversation they appeared to have earlier. While he stared, though, he realized these two looked familiar _._

"Wait a darn tootin' minute," McCree put a hand on his chin. His eyes widened. "Why, I know who you are! You've got 25 million on your heads!"

Immediately both of them raised their weapons. McCree put up his hands.

"Whoa there! If I was a bounty killer I'd have collected you soon as we finished off the omnics. Like I said, I've got a proposition for you two."

"We're listening," Junkrat drew out the syllables, watching McCree with narrowed eyes.

"I know what you've been up to—Stealin' pop from vending machines, breaking into people's homes to use the kitchen, kidnapping tailors to fix your clothes... Just tryin' to fill your basic needs, eh?"

Junkrat cocked his head to the side. He turned to Roadhog. Roadhog turned his masked face downwards, and the two locked eyes in complete silence for a full ten seconds.

"You offerin' a deal or something, mate?" Junkrat finally asked McCree.

"How would you two like to become Overwatch agents?"

"The hell is Overwatch?"

McCree was far too stunned by the question to answer immediately. Junkrat turned to his companion again, as if he'd spoken.

"Oooh! That Overwatch! Yeah, I remember now! I remember hearin' about you lot right when I lost me leg! Just like yesterday!"

Roadhog's head shook slightly, as if surprised by his companion's words.

"Yeah?" McCree looked at his peg leg. "Must be quite a story."

"Couldn't tell ya even if I wanted to, mate!" Junkrat shook the peg leg with a toothy grin. "I don't remember how I lost it!"

"But you just—"

"Yer wastin' our time, ya' yank! What d'ya want?"

"I... asked if you'd like to become Over—"

"Right! Right. Overwatch agents." Junkrat turned to his companion. "I don't care so long as I get to blow up stuff. And, honestly, I'm gettin' a lil' tired of runnin' around and sleepin' on the ground. What d'you think Roadie?"

McCree squinted, trying to find _any_ sign of communication from the larger man. There was no seeing through the lenses of the mask. He could find nothing, and yet Junkrat jumped with joy as if the large man had said something.

"It's _kinda_ like going legit but it won't be for some stinkin' suit _and_ these people are wanted just like us! Hm? Oh, that's a good point." Junkrat turned to the cowboy. "Oi, we can leave whenever we want, right?"

"Sure. Ain't like we got legal grounds or anything."

"Great! We're jus' gonna' gather up some taffy first, Roadie's been itchin' for 'em!"

"No problem. We'll go meet the shuttle in five."

The two turned towards the taffy and started to tear away chunks of it. They stuffed the candy into a burlap sack. McCree did not find the idea of sticky candy being contained in a burlap sack appetizing in the least. He turned his back to them and pressed a finger to his communicator.

"Hey Winston, McCree here. I've got bad news and good news."

" _Give me the bad news."_

"There were at least fifty omnics here. They couldn't have amassed a small army like that over short period of time. Think you gotta' up your intel game, Winston."

" _Oh... That is bad, bad news—Wait, fifty? All by yourself?"_

"That there's tied to the good news. Found myself on the same side of one Junkrat and Roadhog. You know them, don't you?"

" _Criminals. With a bounty worth 25 million. Yes, I know of them. Why?"_

"Well you know how we're... very lacking in manpower—"

" _Ah. You recruited them. Hm. Fine. We'll talk more when you get back. Shuttle ETA 10 minutes."_

"Thanks, Winston."

The gorilla wasted no time cutting off the communication line. McCree had a feeling his decision would take some convincing.

He turned to look at the two new recruits. Junkrat cursed, apparently his peg leg became stuck in the lump of taffy on the machine. He pressed his arm against the taffy to push his leg out, but now his left hand's sunk into the taffy too. He cursed again, louder this time.

Roadhog moved to put his foot against a part of the machine that did _not_ have any sticky taffy as leverage. With a strong yank, Junkrat's limbs were freed along with a large portion of the taffy. Roadhog put the giggling lanky man down. Junkrat dropped himself to the floor and gnawed at the taffy on his peg leg while his companion continued to rip off chunks of the taffy, stuffing them into the ballooning burlap sack.

"Hey," McCree called out to them.

"Yeah, mate?" Junkrat answered as he continued to gnaw on his peg leg.

"You seen any peanut butter fudge 'round here?"

McCree had a feeling his decision would take _a lot_ of convincing.


	2. Spaghetti Western

"Winston!"

The gorilla slumped his shoulders, turning his head upwards, silently mouthing _why._ He put the half-eaten jar of peanut butter aside and turned around on his chair. A woman clad in blue marched towards him, her clenched fists indicating this was not a visit of a friendly nature.

"He is incorrigible! Filthy! Foul! There is a disgusting lack of _order_ in every fiber of his being!"

Winston sighed, pinching his forehead. "What did Junkrat do this time?"

" _Oh_ , where to start?! How about the _mess_ he made in my work room?! It is in a disgusting state, Winston! I refuse to enter that room until it is thoroughly _cleaned!"_

"Yes, yes, I'll go in and straighten the furniture out." Winston hopped off his seat.

"You do not understand me, Winston! There is _spaghetti_ all over my work room!"

Winston froze in his steps. He turned to Symmetra with a raise of his brow.

"I'm sorry. Spaghetti?"

"Yes! I demand my work room be scrubbed _thoroughly!_ Perhaps burn the whole damn room! I don't care! It is filth just like him!"

"Whoa, okay, nobody's going to burn anything," Winston put up his hands. "I'll handle it. Maybe you could work in my lab meanwhile?"

Symmetra turned up her nose at the pile of empty peanut butter jars on a table. "I'll... pass. I will continue working in Mei's laboratory."

The woman turned with a click of her heel and left as quickly as she'd arrived. Winston grumbled to himself as he too left his lab, but not in search of Junkrat. No, _he_ wasn't going to talk to Junkrat.

He found the base's recreation room, and, sure enough, there was McCree lounging by the window, puffing a cigarette. The cowboy noticed him and waved his hand lazily.

"Good morning, my gorilla friend."

"McCree, I need you to talk to Junkrat about staying out of people's spaces. Especially Symmetra's."

"Aw, what'd he do this time?"

"I don't know, but it involves spaghetti."

"Spaghetti?"

"Symmetra found her lab in a mess, apparently covered in spaghetti."

"But why spaghetti...? ... Oh!"

"What?"

"Nothing," McCree leapt from his porch by the window. He put a hand on the gorilla's shoulder. "I'll go give the boy a talkin' to."

Winston opened his mouth to question the man further, but the cowboy skipped out before he could. Winston sighed. Something was up... but he had enough on his plate to worry about that. He still needed to make sure Symmetra wasn't going to set her lab on fire.

* * *

McCree thought of looking for Junkrat at the balcony, where Roadhog often was, but he had a hunch he might find better luck elsewhere.

As he turned the corner and approached a wide, opened doorway, he heard yelling coming from the cafeteria.

"You're a bully! That's all that you are!"

Uh oh. He quickened his steps and entered the cafeteria.

"Ay?" Junkrat cocked his head to the side. "You call _that_ bullyin', mate?!"

"Wh— _Yes_ it's bullying!" Mei looked at him with disbelief. "And don't call me _'mate'!"_

"I dunno, you're like half a syllable away from it. _Meeeei._ _Meeeeeei...ate._ Mate."

Mei groaned with frustration. She pointed at the floating omnic behind her.

"Apologize to him!"

"I think you mean ' _it'._ Also, no."

Mei was about to shout again when a cold, metallic hand placed itself on her shoulder, gently pulling her back. Mei looked over her shoulder at Zenyatta.

"This is not necessary, Mei. Anger solves nothing."

Mei frowned. Her cheeks puffed, withholding her words. She shot Junkrat an icy glare before stomping out of the cafeteria, giving McCree no notice on her way out.

Junkrat narrowed his eyes at the omnic.

"You wanna _go,_ you scrap heap?"

McCree quickly stepped between them. "All right, partner, that's enough. C'mon, we gotta' have a lil' chat."

McCree tipped his hat to the omnic. Zenyatta calmly nodded and gently floated his way out of the cafeteria. Junkrat crossed his arms and looked away, pouting childlishly.

"Now you wouldn't be lookin' like that if you didn't think you did nothing wrong, now would you?" McCree asked with a scolding gaze.

"Seems like I did plenty wrong this week," Junkrat dropped himself onto a chair. "Bound to have made another one."

"Well..." McCree glanced at the doorway. "What happened just now?"

Junkrat remained quiet. McCree stood in front of him, patient but just as stubborn. Junkrat looked at him. McCree responded with a questioning look.

After what surely was the longest period of time Junkrat had ever been silent, he slammed his hands on the table.

"You've got a bloody omnic floatin' about like it owns the place! What was I supposed to do, _let it?!"_

"Well, yes."

"No! Fuckin' hell, no! So I beat the shit out of it! Or at least I was _gonna,_ until Miss Freezey Pants froze me fun leg!"

"Junkrat, you can't—... Your 'fun' leg?"

"Oh, yeah, look. Decorate whatever I want with it. Fun, right?" Junkrat's voice was suddenly much calmer, sticking out his peg leg covered in ice. Underneath the block of frozen water, McCree could make out the outlines of stickers and doodles in black marker. Junkrat slammed his fist on the table again, his voice returning to its high-pitched loudness. "So I called her Miss Freezey Pants! She didn't like it, so I called her Yeti Face! I ain't never seen snow, I don't know how snow people talk!"

"... Snow people?"

"Well she's always wearin' that coat, right? Snow people. Cause it's always snowin' and cold for her."

"What in blazes are you talkin' about, boy? Mei doesn't wear a coat _all_ the time."

"Yeah she does! ... Does she?"

McCree exhaled tiredly. "All right, forget it. That's not what I need to talk to you about. I need to talk to you about _boundaries."_

"Boundaries? Oh, you mean like the thing Roadhog used to talk about."

"Uh... Maybe. What did he say about it?"

"Dunno. Wasn't really listening."

McCree noted that Junkrat said Roadhog _used_ to talk about it. Which meant whatever lesson the big man tried to instill into him, it resulted in failure. Not reassuring in the least.

"All righty then," McCree took a deep breath before making an attempt of his own. "Okay, Jamie, see, everyone needs their own little space to call their own, right? A little space that's theirs and it's their place, their rules."

"Yeah."

"When that space is invaded by something or someone they didn't _invite_ , it's mighty rude. You gotta' respect the person's place of livin', and they'll respect yours."

"But if they don't take care of their stuff, someone's gonna take 'em."

Something clicked in McCree's mind.

"This isn't Australia."

"Doesn't change the fact though. Me and Roadie turned our backs for a sec back in Dorado and _bam!_ Lost me favourite bag. The other guy lost his head, so it's even I guess."

"Uh... Okay, I'll give you that, but you're not livin' with strangers. You're with friends."

"Roadie's me only friend."

"Teammates. Comrades. Whichever works for you. Point is we're not going to turn on you at any time, see?"

"Listen, McCree, I like you an' all, but you're startin' to sound miiiighty worthy of suspect right now."

McCree figured that if Roadhog couldn't get respecting boundaries into Junkrat's head, he probably had zero chance to succeed. Still, perhaps it would be better to get the big man's advice on how to get through to the bomber.

"We'll continue this later," McCree quickly backed out of the conversation. "Stay put in your room. Don't go anywhere."

"You're not Roadie. I don't have to listen to you."

" _Fine,_ just don't get into any more trouble."

"No promises, cobber."

McCree shot him a warning look, for which he received a look of feigned innocence. The cowboy left the cafeteria, and chanced one last glance. Junkrat waved at him cheerfully. McCree pointed at him and narrowed his eyes, as if a warning to not do anything stupid, and left.

* * *

He found his way to the higher floor of the base, and here was a wide, open balcony that faced the beach. A large figure sat crossed legged on the floor, facing the beautiful, sparkling beach. A dirty cloth, cans of compressed air and a box of tools laid by his side, and before him were the disassembled parts of his scrap gun. On his other side, waiting close-by, was the large, sharp, horrifying hook.

Roadhog turned his head around to him.

"Howdy," McCree greeted.

Roadhog grunted and returned to his work without a word. McCree joined him on the balcony. The cool air gently brushed past his cheeks. The deep blue waters in the distance glimmered under the midday sun as it lapped over the white sandy shore. Caws of seagulls could be heard faintly in the distance.

McCree turned his attention to Roadhog. Large fingers dextrously worked and cleaned the delicate construction of his unusual weapon. Perhaps it made sense for Roadhog to have such amazing finger dexterity—McCree found it difficult to imagine Junkrat working delicately on anything.

"What?" Roadhog finally asked.

"I wanted to talk to you about Junkrat."

Roadhog let out a long, weary sigh. He finally turned his masked face up at the cowboy.

McCree continued. "He's... Well, he's not acclimatizing very smoothly."

Roadhog snorted. "Not at all."

"Right. I figure you could help me with that."

"What'd he do this time?"

"Well, among _other_ things, he's taken his new obsession with spaghetti a _little_ too far. Now I don't regret one bit introducing the boy to good ol' spaghetti and meatballs, but it becomes a problem when he thrashes someone else's place with it without their permission. Not to say he'd get the permission, but that's the point I'm tryin' to drive home into the boy. Boundaries. Boy's gotta learn to respect boundaries."

"Give up."

"So I thought you—What?"

"He'll never get it. I've tried."

"Yeah, he mentioned it. He trashed your things too, huh?"

"I don't like people touching my things. He never learned. I gave up."

"So that's it? You didn't do anything about it anymore?"

"No. I gave up trying to teach him about boundaries. I learned to keep him occupied with his bombs so he'll bother me less. Whatever stupid thing he does, it's 50% because he's not working on bombs. Give the kid his own space to make bombs. 'Least he'll keep the spaghetti in one room."

"Ooh, I see now. He needs something to distract himself with. His own work room, huh? I'm sure Winston will be more than happy to oblige—"

"No. Make him work for it." Roadhog quickly added.

McCree put a hand around his chin. "Not a bad idea. Thanks, partner!"

"No problem."

Roadhog clicked the final part of his scrap gun together. He held the gun in his hands and pointed it at an angle towards the sky. He fired a shot, and it flew directly towards the white sandy beach—and promptly dropped at an arc. McCree heard a dull thud, likely that it fell within Overwatch grounds. At least it didn't hit anyone.

" _MY ROSES!"_

_Oh mercy._

* * *

McCree leaned against the doorframe, casually smoking a cigarette as he kept a close eye on his charge. Junkrat grumbled to himself—He's on a streak of curses for an hour now—while he scrubbed at a tomato-covered spot on the floor.

"Heya McCree!" McCree heard the cheerful voice of Tracer behind him. "Oh! Punishment, huh?"

McCree nodded. "Of course."

"Can he clean my room next? He threw a spaghetti bomb in my room too."

"Seriously?" McCree turned to Junkrat, whose attention was caught at the mention of the word 'bomb'. "I thought you two were getting along."

"Oooh..." Junkrat looked away, embarrassed. "I thought it was the grumpy gramp's room. Sorry, mate."

"Grumpy gramps?"

"Oh, it was delicious spaghetti, love," Tracer said with a wave of her hand. "Bit of warning next time maybe? We'll take it outside, blast the spaghetti in our faces and everything, yeah?"

"Yeah!" Junkrat cheered at the idea. "Spaghetti launchers!"

"No!" McCree quickly stopped them. "No more spaghetti for you! Get back to cleaning!"

Tracer winked at Junkrat, promising to join him on his next spaghetti-based escapade. She beamed an innocent smile at the cowboy and promptly left. Junkrat giddily hopped on the balls of his feet. With a single look from the cowboy, though, he quickly returned to work.

While the bomber continued to scrub away at the lab, McCree wondered if they should invest in a heavy-duty lock and a blast door for the kitchen.


	3. A Rat in a Cowboy Hat

Junkrat, besides being a genius prodigy when it came to bombs, was also perhaps just as prodigal when it came to getting in trouble.

McCree stood before a pouty Junkrat, whose arms stayed crossed defensively over himself, a leg over the other. Junkrat sat defiantly in a chair in the middle of the spacious room—One that used to be pristine with white walls, turned overnight into a semblance of a failed bomb shelter.

The cowboy turned to Roadhog, who stood next to him.

“Well?”

Roadhog shrugged. “Omnic got what was coming to him.”

McCree groaned. Of course Roadhog would take Jamie’s side for this.

“What exactly happened, Jamie?”

“I know your trick, you yank. You call me that when you think I’d become more a—amia—ameebol—”

“Amicable,” Roadhog offered.

“That! You won’t have your way this time, yank!”

McCree shot Roadhog a look to shut up. Roadhog, of course, found no intimidation behind the look of the much, much shorter man.

“Genji’s also going to be punished, Jamie, but I’d like to hear _your_ side of the story.”

“What’s to tell? Omnic came up to me face, I punch it in its face. End of!”

“Okay, buddy, first of all, Genji isn’t _quite_ an omnic. Not that it should matter which he is. He’s your teammate.”

“Get stuffed.”

“And secondly, why did he come up to you?”

“He wanted to pick a fight with me is why! Started screamin’ his head off ‘bout some Zentata or something! The hell is that, huh? The hell’s a Zentata?”

“Zenyatta. That’s the omnic you insulted yesterday.”

“Whatever! So I hit him back! Fair’s fair!”

“Genji hit first?”

“Nobody can prove he did!”

McCree blinked. “I... What? Jamie, I’m trying to _help_ you.”

“The omnic struck first,” Roadhog confirmed it for him.

McCree nodded to the man as thanks. “Anything else happened?”

“Nope.” Junkrat shook his head. “I hit him, he started hoppin’, then I started hoppin’ after he took me fun leg.”

McCree’s eyes traveled to Junkrat’s missing right calf.

“Hm. Yeah, we’re done here. I’ll see to getting your leg back.”

“I’d appreciate it if you did. Can’t replace it with a new one, me favourite sticker’s on it.”

McCree nodded. He made his way to the door—A double reinforced steel door—but stopped short just before leaving the room entirely. He turned back to the bomb-happy Australian.

“Jamie,” he spoke gravely. “For the love of all that is holy, _stay out of trouble.”_

“That’s what I keep telling him,” Roadhog added.

Junkrat slumped against the back of the wooden chair and spread his limbs apart with resignation. “ _Eeeeeverybody’s_ got it out for lil’ ol’ me don’t they?”

McCree rolled his eyes and left, closing the door behind him. He made his way across almost the entire width of the base—Junkrat’s bomb workshop was located far, _far_ away from pretty much everything in the base. He came upon a hallway. He spotted Soldier 76 exiting the door of his destination. 76 spotted him as well and approached him with a clear look of irritation.

“McCree,” said 76, “That Junkrat is becoming a real nuisance.”

“He’s a mostly good kid. I swear.” McCree attempted a chuckle to earn a lighter mood from the soldier, who remained unaffected.

“Hmph. Well, Genji admitted to starting the fight. Here.” Jack handed to the cowboy a familiar, orange, sticker-littered peg leg. “Taking his leg was absolutely over the line. Genji is barred from the next mission.”

“Oh? What’s the next mission?” McCree asked as he accepted the peg leg.

“We detected a distress signal from the forests near Eichenwalde. We’re sending you and your charges.”

“Jack, I’m not sure you understand how... destructive they are. They’ll clear the whole damn forest.”

“We’re not expecting hostiles, so we’re not expecting anyone to fire off any weapons. We all have our strengths, but if they’re going to be a part of Overwatch, they need to be able to _not_ shoot. It’s only a survey of the beacon and a possible rescue. That’s it. Could not be simpler. They can’t fail this, but you’re there to make sure of that.”

“Well... I suppose they can handle _that_...”

“Great.” Jack smiled. “Winston has the details, but he’ll call you in soon enough.”

Right at that moment, the PA system blared throughout the base.

“ _Erm, is this thing—Ah, okay. Ahem! McCree, Junkrat, and Roadhog, please report to the briefing room immediately. Now how do I turn it o—”_

Jack patted McCree on the shoulder.

“Good luck.”

McCree pled the stars to stop making his life so difficult.

* * *

“Hey, Hoggy?”

Junkrat pulled his nose out of the halves of spheres on the floor, immediately spotting his companion a few feet away, reading a magazine. Roadhog grunted in acknowledgment.

“Are we friends?”

Roadhog tore his eyes away from the magazine, putting it down on his lap. He turned to look at his companion.

“Yes,” Roadhog replied, one of the rare times he’d vocalize his words to Junkrat.

Junkrat looked thoughtful for a moment. “How’d that happen?”

Roadhog stared.

Junkrat frowned. “Right, look, whatever. Forget it.”

Junkrat returned to his work, grumbling under his breath. He shook a packet of grey powder into a half of a sphere container, fingers working diligently to include every single particle into the bomb.

A sudden gust of wind burst towards him, sending the grey powder flying into his face.

“GAH!” Junkrat exclaimed, jerking away. “Roadie, what the hell! That stuff’s bitter! Pfeh!” Junkrat spat out the distate to the floor. He glared at the large man who had plopped himself down right in front of him. “What?”

Roadhog stared.

“I’m not worried about anything,” Junkrat replied stubbornly.

Roadhog stared.

“OKAY! FINE! You’re right! I don’t know how to make friends and I pissed off the entire base in a week! Even took me leg for it, too. Bloody half... man... thing! Why don’t things work like they’re supposed to, Roadie? Did I forget how to talk to people?”

Roadhog put a hand on Junkrat’s head, a pat far too soft for a man his size.

“This isn’t the Outback,” said Roadhog. “People here are nice, but... delicate.”

“I have no idea what to do with that information, Roadie.”

“Just ask before you do anything.”

“What, like for _permission?”_

Roadhog nodded.

“Well that’s just a load of—”

He was interrupted by a loud voice that echoed from the corridors outside. _“Erm, is this thing—Ah, okay. Ahem! McCree, Junkrat, and Roadhog, please report to the briefing room immediately. Okay, now how do I turn it o—”_

“Our first mission!” Junkrat leapt to his feet excitedly. He started to topple sideways, forgetting that he had no footing on the right side of his body. Roadhog quickly grabbed his arm and pulled him back to a stand. Junkrat giggled and took hold of Roadhog’s fingers with his other hand, and started to pull himself towards the larger man. He continued to climb and eventually settled on Roadhog’s back with an arm around his neck.

“Forward, my steed!”

Roadhog shook his head with a deep sigh.

* * *

A small yellow bird fluttered from tree to tree as it pecked at the wooden surfaces in search of a meal. Trees of the forest grew to reach far towards the sky. A lush leafy canopy shadowed much of the woodland floor. Leaves rustled in the gentle, cool winds that carried with it an earthy scent. The Black Forest—once a devastating stage of the Omnic Crisis—now an arcadian scene of nature.

Three men trekked deep in the forest, led only by the small radar in the leading man’s hand. McCree consistently glanced between the device and the path they were headed. He could hear the heavy footsteps of Roadhog behind him, steady and careful. He could hear the uneven steps of Junkrat as well, erratic and... a little too far back, actually.

McCree stopped in his tracks and turned around. Junkrat lagged too far back. It was only a few seconds later did Junkrat finally caught up to them.

“You doin’ all right there, Rat?” McCree asked, his gaze momentarily fell on Junkrat’s peg leg. He wondered if perhaps the dirt and forest floor hindered his movements somehow.

“Uh,” Junkrat’s eyes darted everywhere. “No probs, mate. I got it. Boy, I ain’t seen so many trees before. Ha ha! All these trees, huh? All these trees everywhere. Ha ha.”

His laugh was as stiff the trees around him. Roadhog marched past him and firmly pushed him forward. Junkrat shot him a disapproving look, but nevertheless accepted his new position ahead of his friend.

McCree looked at Roadhog questioningly. Roadhog gave him a thumbs-up.

McCree nodded. “Let’s keep movin’, then.”

They continued to plot their paths according to the soft beeps of their device. The dot on the screen have yet to leave the edge. They were still a ways from the source of the signal.

McCree glanced to his side. Junkrat still kept turning his head to almost every single direction in the forest. Amber eyes darted sideways, downwards, upwards, to a branch located far above them and a little to their right, to a little moss-covered rock by the darker spot under a colony of wide-brimmed mushrooms... His mechanical fingers twitched around his other arm, grazing metallic tips against skin.

“Hey,” Junkrat started to speak. “C-Can I blow somethin’ up?”

“You what now?”

“I... I gotta blow somethin’ up. Please?”

That was the first time McCree ever heard him sound like anything close to polite. Unfortunately, he could not reward this attempt.

“Sorry, partner. No can do.”

Roadhog pointed at a tree slightly more isolated compared to the others. “How about that one?”

With speed McCree had only ever seen in a cowboys’ standoff, Junkrat unholstered his grenade launcher and aimed a grenade to go off exactly one foot from the base of the trunk in no more than a second. What remained of the trunk was not enough to keep the tree upright. Slowly, with a low wooden groan, the tree fell towards the ground, but its branches became tangled among the branches of its neighboring trees, and its length remained at a slant instead.

Junkrat sighed. “That’s a little better.”

“Jamie,” McCree spoke carefully. “ _Why?”_

“Why what?”

“ _Why_ did you blow up that tree?”

“Oh. Well. I mean. It was there, so...”

McCree learned very recently that, if he wanted any _real_ anwers to his questions, he needed to look to Roadhog—The only problem was that the man may or may not decide to answer.

Junkrat looked to Roadhog too, though the jitter in his fingers returned. Roadhog stared at the bomber. Junkrat frowned and turned to McCree again.

“’M _sorry_ ,” Junkrat uttered the phrase as if it was brambles in his mouth.

“What?” McCree was taken aback by the apology. “Partner, I don’t care much for apologies. Are you okay there? Forest botherin’ ya or somethin’?”

Junkrat’s eyes widened. McCree knew he’d hit the right note with the bomber.

“YES!” Junkrat cried out with some relief. “What’s with all these trees? Where’s east? Where’s south? Everywhere looks the same! Why’s these trees gotta be so tall? Can’t see nothin’ behind ‘em! Why didn’t we shuttle right to the beacon? Drop us off right on it, no need to trek through this death trap! Can’t even blow up a path! Blow all these trees away! Bloody death trap! And _what’s with all the trees?!”_

Roadhog planted a hand on the jittery young man’s head. Junkrat sighed, shoulders slightly slacked.

“All right, partner,” McCree spoke slowly and gently as he could. “First, _do not_ blow up any more trees, or Winston will have my behind. Second, the shuttle _can not_ land in the middle of the forest because we couldn’t find a proper clearing for it to land in. _Third_ , I admit a forest is a... mighty good place for an ambush, but we can handle it, can’t we?”

Junkrat still looked unsure. “You sure I can’t blow up anything else? That rock for one?”

“ _Absolutely_ _sure_ you _can’t_.” McCree crossed his arms and gave him an examining look. “Ain’t you used to the desert? Can’t see anything for miles, can’t exactly tell which way’s what when everywhere’s the same.”

“The desert made sense _._ All of this doesn’t.” Junkrat looked around, though his eyes did not look at any specific thing. He added, in a softer voice, “Mate, I’m really tryin’.”

It was as if Junkrat had a pistol of his own, and he’d just pulled a quick draw and shot right through the cowboy’s heart.

McCree exhaled, running a hand through his hair, bumping into his hat. An idea occurred to him. He took off his hat and put it on Junkrat’s head.

“This here’s a protectin’ hat. You’re gonna be just fine with this on you.”

“I’m not an idiot, ya yank,” Junkrat muttered. Despite the irritation in his voice, he curiously tugged at the brims of the hat down with both hands, his eyes glancing up at the bottom surface of the brim with awe.

McCree grinned. “Shall we?”

Junkrat continued to tug and poke at the hat. Roadhog nodded, fine to proceed.

They continued to trudge through the forest, accompanied only by the songs of the birds and the sounds of their steps. Junkrat’s steps were characteristically uneven, but he kept up this time. The hat was perhaps a brilliant distraction for him. McCree felt awfully proud of himself.

The device started to beep at closer intervals. The dot on the screen had finally left the edge, and approaching the center.

“Almost there now, boys,” McCree announced.

He snapped away a low-hanging branch with his foot, and with that one more step he noticed, in the distance, an outline far too precise that stood out among the dynamic, living shapes of nature. They quickened their pace. Curiosity mounted higher and higher as the beeps became more and more rapid.

They emerged into a sun-bathed glade. Before them was a trapezoidal wall, its wider base planted firmly into the ground. It was as wide as the glade, leaving only a few feet between itself and the edge of the glade, and two storeys tall. The building was of ancient construct, made of stone and wood. Age wore at the construction, and nature took its course over its walls. Vines tangled around the building, and ended abruptly over what looked to be a door—Wooden beams on the wall shaped very much like a doorway, yet there was no door to speak of. It looked like an ancient bunker with no way in or out.

“It’s comin’ from here all right,” McCree confirmed the reading on the device in his hand. “Take a break. I’ll contact Winston.”

While McCree spoke through his comm device, Junkrat took interest to the supposed doorway on the building.

“The world’s mighty big and mighty strange, Roadhog,” said Junkrat, approaching the doorway with his friend. “Lookit’ this thing! Who’d wanna live in the middle of all these trees?”

Junkrat kicked at the stone wall with his peg leg. The stone gave way, rotating around a horizontal pivot across its middle. Junkrat yelped as he lost his balance, and the momentum of his kick propelled him towards the stone. He cringed and fully expected to meet facefirst into it.

But instead he continued to fall forward and downwards, and he was _sure_ he’d fallen below ground level until his face hit the musty stone floor with a loud _smack_ , his legs dangling over his head. He noted how much smaller the space he was in now, and realized he must have found a way into the weird bunker building.

“Hey, I found a—”

_BAM!_

The floor rumbled. Dust blew past his face as darkness took over.

“Junkrat!” he heard a gruff voice behind him.

Junkrat rushed to his feet, holding his hands out in front of him.

“Roadie!” Junkrat screamed. “I’m blind, Roadie! It’s finally happened! The witch was right! We shouldn’t have stolen her cat, Roadie! I repent! I repent!”

“... What?” he heard McCree’s voice, more distant than Roadhog’s.

Roadhog groaned. “Jamie, you’re not blind, she wasn’t a witch, and curses aren’t real.”

“Oh. No?”

“No. You’re inside the... whatever this building is. There’s probably no light in there. Hold on.”

He heard a loud bang behind him, and he leapt away from it. He heard another loud bang, as if the stone wall was being hit over and over by large, heavy impacts.

Suddenly, the walls rumbled. Dust and stony pieces started to drop from above.

“Wait, stop!” He heard McCree shout. The impacts stopped. “Doesn’t seem too steady, partner. Door’s shut tight, too.”

“I’m stuck?” Junkrat asked loudly.

“Yeah,” Roadhog answered. “You okay?”

“Sure. Just like crawlin’ ‘round the Outback as a kid. Tight spaces. Lots of people lookin’ to kill me. Oh, there isn’t any of that last one though, is there?”

“Let’s hope not,” said McCree. “You got bombs on you, Rat?”

“Yeah! Me launcher’s right—”

Junkrat felt around on his being, but could not find the familiar grasp of his weapon. He knelt and carefully felt around the floor.

“Uh... Me grenade launcher’s... right...”

“Your grenade launcher’s out here with us,” McCree told him. “I’m trying to tell you _not_ to explode anything while you’re in there. This old building don’t look too stable. Torbjorn’s on his way to get you out, no need to worry.”

“The gramps with the cool hand? I love that guy! Gives me a Snickers every time I go to his workshop and lets me take all the scrap I want!”

“Oh,” McCree sounded a little surprised. “Apologies, partner, I thought you were the one going through our trash and been getting your materials there.”

“No, mate, that’s also me.”

Silence followed.

“Okay,” McCree finally spoke. “I’m just going to keep a look out for Torbjorn’s arrival.”

The sound of boots against the grassy earth grew more and more distant, until it ended much further away from where it had been. The device had long stopped beeping, having been turned off since Junkrat’s entrapment within the old building.

“Rat,” he heard Roadhog’s voice. “Don’t fucking move.”

“Yeah, I got it! Yeesh!”

Junkrat was beginning to grow exasperated at being treated like a child. He kicked at the dust, though he instead managed to kick at a somewhat firmly shaped fabric. Curious, he reached to the floor, blindly swiping his hand until it brushed against a familiar, tough felt texture.

_McCree’s hat!_

He swiped his hand to take hold of it, but he missed. He tried again, and realized he must have accidentally pushed the hat a little further in. So he took a small, careful step in the darkness and tried to feel for the hat, but he only found air. He took another step. Another, and another...

... until he realized his forward foot fell a below groundlevel and was not stopping. He screamed as he lost his footing and dropped down below.

His arms and legs scrambled in the air, desperate for anything to hold on to. He did not know if there was _anything_ to hold on to. Junkrat wondered if perhaps he _did_ become blind. He finally came to a landing when his back dropped against a squishy, yet relatively rigid, surface. He groaned. The fall still hurt. He pushed himself up, and felt small, circular shapes under his hands. He grasped blindly at them. Mushrooms, maybe?

He found the stony wall behind him, and pulled himself to his feet. He decided to be careful this time, and _skidded_ his foot across the floor. He felt around and realized he was at the dead-end of a narrow corridor. Only one way to proceed, which was just fine for him. Less decisions to make. The further he went in, the lower the floor slanted. He was not getting any closer to _out_ of here. He was absolutely blind. He tugged at the bombs on his shoulder. Explosions would light up the place, right?

His foot bumped into something. He froze. He quickly felt around the ground and touched what felt like matted wool...

The hat!

Junkrat quickly lunged at it, refusing to lose it this time. He finally managed to secure capture of the hat, but realized he was, once more, falling. As the floor continued to slant deeper and lower, Junkrat tumbled helplessly and painfully all the way to the bottom until he skidded to a stop against flat, even ground.

He groaned. “If I fall down _one more time_ I’m blowin’ this place up sky high.”

“BWEOO?”

His heart skipped. That sound could not be human. He scrambled to his feet and backed himself up a wall. He tried to look around, but he had no idea if his eyes worked anymore, as if an impossibly dark curtain hung over his eyes.

A gentle blue light softly came to life, a mere ten feet away. Rectangular light encased by a similarly rectangle face. Patches of nature covered the underlying metallic body. A smaller light on its chest glowed just as brightly, illuminating a part of its angular body. Bolts and screws at its arms gleamed with reflected light.

“BWOOP!”

Junkrat screamed.


	4. BWEE, BWOO

The lights flashed brighter as they moved higher from the ground. Heavy, careful steps approached. The dim outline of the omnic grew larger before him.

“Back!” Junkrat screamed, quickly securing McCree’s hat onto his head. He pulled out a grenade from the harness on his shoulders and shook it at the omnic threateningly. “Back or I’ll blow us both!”

The omnic stopped its approach and the whirs of its machinery died down. For a few long, tense seconds both remained frozen in place.

“Yes, now that’s a good pile of junk.” Junkrat felt around the wall behind him as he slowly strafed along it until he was certain he stood in the corridor again. “Don’t move an inch and we’ll both get to live— _PSYCH!”_

He tossed the grenade at the omnic. It bounced off of its metallic trunk with a clang. The blue light of its face barely turned to look at the thrown object when the grenade detonated in a flash of fiery orange. Junkrat cackled. A gust of dust and ember blew past his face, and he remained for a moment to savour the warmth with a satisfied grin. Though it was too dark to see the burst of flames and dismemberment of body parts, the sensations of the aftermath was just as exciting. Knowing that the omnic was gone was perhaps the best part.

Blue light pierced through, becoming brighter as more of the dust settled. Junkrat cursed, scrambling to detach another bomb off of his strap. The omnic stood up straight, making a weak surprised sound. It ran towards him. Junkrat watched with horror as the large omnic charged at him, and in his panic he could not get the grenade out of its slot. He deliberated setting off every single explosive on his person. Take the omnic down with him. That would not be a bad way to go.

But he hesitated. Hands of metal slammed onto his chest, sending him staggering backwards, but... the impact was surprisingly weak considering the omnic’s size.

The floor rumbled. The walls shook. The room’s ceiling started to fall. He heard the loud, heavy sound of impact. When his eyes adjusted to the omnic, a large slab of stone dropped from above onto the omnic. Its knees bent under the force, followed by a sharp flash of its lights. The slab of stone cracked into two halves that stayed on its shoulders. The light on the omnic’s face flickered.

The air stilled. Bits of stone rolled down the debris. The entire room had collapsed, leaving only the corridor intact.

Junkrat looked at the omnic warily, though his hands no longer reached for grenades.

“You... saved me?"

The omnic’s light stablized. It made a low, shuddering beep. Its head slowly turned to its left, where a slab of stone weighed upon its shoulder. It turned to its right shoulder to see the same thing. It turned to face Junkrat.

“BWEOO...”

Junkrat did not understand beeps and bwoops, but it sounded very much like a cry for help.

He took one step towards it. The omnic did not move. It waited, patient and trusting. Junkrat retracted the step and instead planted his fists on his sides.

“Okay, now I _know_ you’re up to something!” Junkrat pointed an accusatory finger at it. “Tryin’a bring me guard down?! Toss a bomb, bring down the ceiling, pretend to save me—Oh, wait. The bomb was me. Brilliant explosion though, right?”

“BWOO?”

“How do I know you won’t shoot me head off soon as I help you out, huh?”

“BW... BWOO...”

The omnic’s head fell. Its arms fall to its sides. Blue light fell to the floor. How on earth could an omnic without an actual face look so _sad?_

“O... Okay, listen, omnic.” Junkrat slowly approached with one hand help up in a gesture of truce, while the other remained on his harness of bombs. “You try anythin’ funny and I’ll blow us both to kingdom come.”

The omnic’s head rose again, and it beeped cheerfully. It was impossible for those beeps to carry any emotion.

Junkrat shoved a finger in its face.

“I’m only doin’ this ‘cause you saved me, we clear?!”

The omnic did not respond, tilting its head in confusion.

Junkrat pushed the stone on the omnic’s left shoulder. It was pretty heavy. With a grunt, he tried again, this time throwing all of his weight on it—Which wasn’t much. The omnic itself was definitely stronger than he was, and even it couldn’t get the stones off.

“What if I...” Junkrat’s eyes shot to his harness. “blew it off...?”

Alarmed beeps screamed from the omnic, its head shaking with fear and utter rejection of the idea.

“Okay! I won’t!” Junkrat shouted, and the beeps immediately ceased. Junkrat rolled his eyes. “Yeesh. It’s just a _little_ explosion.”

“BWEOOO!”

“I’m _not_ going to blow up anything, yeesh! ... Bugger me, can’t believe I just said that.”

He planted his palms under the slab and, with a loud grunt, tried to push it off, but to no avail. He spotted a small notch on the underside of the slab, just above where the shoulder met the stone. He had an idea. It was risky—Not to the omnic, but to himself, should the omnic decide to turn against him.

Nothing stopped him from _not_ helping the bloody thing...

Junkrat bit his lip. He fiddled with the brim of the cowboy’s hat. After a few seconds of silent deliberation, he reached for just above his right knee and undid the latch to his peg leg.

“BWOO?”

“Shut it ya’ drongo.”

He carefully slid the bottom tip of the leg under the stone slab, and into the notch. It slid in for a few more inches until it reached the end of the deep notch. He then moved his hands to the other end of the peg leg.

“Now listen here ya’ pile of scrap, this stone’s too heavy for me _and_ you, but not both of us. On the count of three, I’m going to tip the stone to the back, so just jiggle or something to get it moving.”

“BWOO!”

It sounded happy.

“Right. One... Two...”

On the third call, Junkrat planted his left foot to the floor and the stub of his right against the omnic. He pulled at his peg leg, hoping that it would provide enough of a tip for the stone to slide in one direction. The omnic shuffled, trying to move its shoulders as much as it could under the weights.

The stone started to move. Junkrat pulled harder at his peg leg, and the omnic’s left shoulder started to move more and more freely. The stone slid further back until Junkrat could tip his peg leg all the way, and the stone finally fell to the pile of debris behind.

“BEEP BWOOP!”

“Yeah, mate! Real nice!” Junkrat cheered. He hopped to the right shoulder. There were no notches or slots to stabilize the peg leg with, but Junkrat didn’t care. The thrill of a well-executed plan, no matter how small, always got him going. He jabbed his leg between the stone and the omnic’s shoulder, using force alone to jam it into the junction.

“Ready?”

“BWOO!”

Junkrat pulled at the peg leg once more. The omnic shook its shoulders with more ease than before, and the stone smoothly slid to the back.

“BWEEP! BWEEP BWEEP!”

“’Course it worked! My plans always do!"

Junkrat leaned down and returned his peg leg to its rightful place. It latched back on with a gentle click. He straightened up again and turned to look at the omnic, but the smile quickly left his face when he remembered that the thing before him was, still, an omnic.

“Uh, right. So...” Junkrat quickly added distance between him and the omnic. “I’m still on board with blowing up the both of us if you try anything.”

“BWOO.”

Junkrat glanced at the other end of the corridor. He already knew it was a dead-end, but it _did_ connect to the entrance, even if it was a long way up. There had to be a way.

“You walk ahead,” Junkrat stepped to the side. “’Least you’re good for your lights.”

“BWOO!”

A cheery response. The omnic moved past him and led the way. Junkrat followed it. There was only one path straight ahead, so there was absolutely no way the omnic could try to lose him—

The omnic turned left.

Junkrat froze in place, shocked. Wasn’t this a straight-forward corridor? The omnic disappeared from sight. He shook his head and quickly ran to catch up. He bumped into metal, and looked up to see a rectangle of blue light. The omnic cocked its head to the side. It had turned around to check on him. The omnic stepped to the side and prodded Junkrat to move into the new corridor. Junkrat jerked away from its touch, but followed its lead. The omnic stood next to him. It held its arms apart, one behind the Junker and one gesturing forward. A suggestion to walk side-by-side.

Junkrat crossed his arms over his chest. “Yeah alright, fine.”

Junkrat walked first, and the omnic followed closely. With what little light they had, he saw that this corridor was no different than the one before, except that its floor pitch any higher or lower. Which was just fine. Finding grip with his peg leg on tilting surface was tiring.

“So where we goin’?”

“BWEEO!”

“... Don’t know why I asked.”

* * *

Roadhog stomped the grass, aimlessly marching around the glade. He was restless and agitated. McCree leaned against the stone building, a cigarette in his mouth, keeping his sight among the trees.

“When,” Roadhog growled, “is he _coming.”_

“Real soon, partner. I promise. Torbjorn will get the boy out in no time.”

“He better.”

Roadhog resumed his aimless stomping. McCree continued to watch the trees for any sign of the arrival of his fellow agent.

“He’ll be just fine, Roadhog,” McCree tried to calm the man.

“He’ll throw a bomb at the first problem he comes across. The building will collapse and he’ll die.”

McCree hadn’t known the bomber as long as Roadhog did, but even he knew how accurate the assumption was.

“We’ll get to him,” was all McCree could offer. Roadhog gave him nothing more than a grunt.

McCree returned his attention to the trees. There was nothing they could do to speed up the agents’ arrival. The best they could hope for was for Junkrat to be alive and well when they finally get to him.

_Rustle._

McCree stood up straight, fully alert. Roadhog stilled as well. They exchanged looks.

_Rustle._

A glint among the trees. McCree’s eyes widened.

“Get down!”

McCree ducked and dashed to the other side of the old building. Though gun fire blasted at them from only one direction, they might soon find themselves surrounded. It wouldn’t do to stay in the open glade. As soon as he reached the other end of the glade, he leapt behind a shrubbery, finding cover among the trees. Roadhog slid behind cover next to him, firing his scrap gun at the general direction of their attackers.

“Omnics,” said Roadhog. “Seven, maybe ten near us, but might be more soon."

“Hell fire,” McCree cursed, sneaking a look from cover as he readied his gun. A shot fired past his cheek. He quickly retreated back to cover. He pressed a finger to his left ear. “Winston, we’ve got possible Null Sector shootin’ at our heads.”

“ _What? They’re there? What on earth are they... Right, okay, not the time. 76's here with me, he'll be right—”_   Winston paused. _“Okay, so... 76 is telling me to send Genji. And to make sure he helps to rescue Junkrat. He and Mercy can dispatch immediately. What is Junkrat’s status?”_

“Can’t reach his comms. Might have been damaged somehow.”

Roadhog stopped firing. He looked thoughtful.

“Possible. He was messing with headsplosions last night."

"... Headsplosions?"

"Explosions. But to the head. His words."

Winston grunted. _“We’ll ... ... later ..._ _Gen—...._ _—r_ _cy_ _... Torbjorn ... h—”_

_A burst of static erupted, followed by silence._

“Winston?” McCree tried to call for him, but there was no response.

A rustle of leaves caught his attention. Both he and Roadhog pointed their weapons in the direction. From the bushes emerged a short, stout man.

“Gueeeess who!”

“Torbjorn!” McCree greeted the voice with relief. He turned to Roadhog, glancing at a direction to indicate where they should go next. “We need to fall back. Too many even for the three of us.”

Roadhog looked at the old building. He nodded, giving it one last glance before following McCree further from the building.

* * *

“BWEOOO! BWOO! BWOO!”

The omnic spun its head around, its arms swiveling in panic.

“What?” Junkrat asked, looking around but finding nothing of note. “What’re you going off about?”

“BWEEEEEE!”

“You corkin’ it or somethin’?”

The omnic stretched an arm behind Junkrat. It dashed forward, bringing Junkrat with it as it cleared the entire corridor in mere seconds.

When he was released from the sudden burst of movement, his body staggered forward with momentum. A bright whiteness flashed, and he squeezed his eyes shut from the sudden change in lighting. His eyes soon adjusted and he realized he was now in a large, stone-walled room very similar to the previous one, but this one was different. In the center of the room was a long desk that curve gently around an old, moldy seat.

Upon closer inspection, the desk was no mere desk—It was a console of sorts. Junkrat felt oddly familiar with this particular scene.

“BWEEP!”

“Look, mate, whatever you’re tryina’ say, I'm not understanding any of it.”

He returned to the console. At the far corner of the console was a blinking, circular red light, no larger than a fist. If Roadhog was here, he’d tell Junkrat to _not_ touch the console.

But he wasn't here.

Junkrat poked the blinking red light.

The console lit up with life. A loud static sound burst from the console. Junkrat hissed and covered his ears. The wild jumbling sounds started to merge into something audible.

“ _... in real trouble. Can’t contact HQ, they’re runnin’ interference with our comms.”_

Junkrat whistled. “Sounds like everything’s goin’ tits up out there.”

The comms was silent for a few seconds.

“ _Junkrat!”_ Roadhog’s voice boomed from the console. _“Where are you?”_

“Oh! Hey Hoggy!” Junkrat smiled at the pleasant discovery of a way to contact his teammates. “I’m... underground? Not sure.” He looked up at the high ceiling. It was also stone, and the large orbs above illuminated the room. “Bright as day in here.”

 _"Found yourself in a rat trap, Rat?"_ Genji's voice appeared.

"Uuuuuugh. Not _you."_

 _"Ah, Junkrat,"_ Torbjorn cleared his throat, shifting the conversation away from potential argument. _"Didn't you blow up your comm device? How’re you contactin’ us?”_

“Oh, well, I found this console thing. Kinda like the one in the Omnium back home.” Junkrat looked over the rest of the console, now lit up with various touch-buttons to be pressed. His eyes rested upon a small, rounded slot in the console. He furrowed his brows. He felt like he knew what the slot was meant to accept. “Actually... that... looks a lot like...”

Junkrat gasped. He quickly slapped a hand on his mouth.

“ _Junkrat?”_ McCree called.

“What!” Junkrat laughed with nerves as steady as a bumblebee’s flight. “Who said anythin’ about me treasure? Not me! Not I! Nuh-uh!”

“BWEOOOOO!”

Junkrat turned to the omnic to shout at it to shut up, but he realized the omnic was no longer there—Instead, there was some turret-like thing that had planted itself a few feet away from the corridor.

Before he could take a closer look at the turret, a storm of footsteps echoed from the corridor. All of them sounded metallic. Junkrat reached for his grenade launcher—but all he grasped was air, and he was reminded that he had nothing but the bombs on his harness... and the RIP tire, but he’d learned not to explode anything inside this old building anymore. The explosion from his RIP tire would be ten times more devastating than the bombs he had now. The whole building might just collapse altogether on top of him.

A troop of omnics emerged from the shadows of the corridor, and Junkrat tugged a bomb out of his strap. He had no choice but to hope that this room could withstand a _little_ explosion.

The turret whirred to life. It unleashed a barrage of gun fire directly down the corridor. The attackers only managed to fire wild shots before immediately getting mowed down by the barrage. When the final attacker fell, the turret slowly let its revolution slow to a stop. The turret then began to deform, its metal plates and beams moving apart to form a familiar shape.

Junkrat stood agape, bomb still in hand, as he watched the transformation from turret to a recognizable bipedal form.

“Holy dooley,” he breathed.

They heard the sounds of a gun fight. The omnic’s body parts started to move again, but Junkrat quickly put his hand on it.

“Hold it.” Junkrat listened closely for a moment. He could hear the sound of metallic bodies falling to the ground. “Might be me friends.”

Junkrat ran ahead towards the corridor. He was only halfway towards the corridor when he spotted a familiar silhouette approaching...

“It’s the yank!” Junkrat shouted with glee.

McCree emerged from the darkness of the corridor, weapon in hand.

“Don’t you have a better nickname for me?” McCree asked, albeit with a playful smile. He saw his hat still on Junkrat’s head, and was ready to make some clever comment on it when he spotted the other occupant in the room. “... That an omnic behind you?”

Junkrat followed his gaze. He immediately frowned.

“What? No. He’s not some bloody omnic.”

McCree gave him a questioning look. Junkrat crossed his arms over his chest.

“He just—He’s _not_ , alright? He’s a—turret with legs.”

“Turret with legs.”

“Piss off. Where’s Roadie?”

McCree cast one more glance at the omnic before deciding now wasn’t the time. “Roadhog and Torbjorn are keeping the omnics from the shuttle. C’mon.”

Junkrat followed McCree through the corridor, now fully lit from lights that apparently had always been there on the ceiling. When they reached at the supposed dead-end, where the mushrooms had broken his fall earlier, he saw that the opposite wall had become a staircase. Junkrat was about to ask where the hell it came from and where the light switch was when he spotted a small lever at eye level on the wall at the foot of the stairs. He grumbled, frustrated that he hadn’t tried to move his hands a little higher on the walls. When they reached the top of the stairs, he saw another lever on the wall to his right. Of course.

They emerged outside, taking no time to readjust their eyes to the change in brightness. A lean man, whose body appeared mechanical, leapt to their side with a blade ready in his hands.

“This is... a Bastion unit?” Genji asked, keeping his eyes straight ahead as he deflected incoming fire.

“Bastion?” Junkrat tested the name. “Huh. It’s better than Turret-With-Legs, I’ll give you that.”

“BWEEW.”

Genji stilled for a moment, though his arms continued to handle the blade with reflex. He waited for McCree to clarify. McCree shrugged, nodding towards the forest and silently mouthing _let’s just go._ Genji snorted with bitter amusement. He threw a trio of throwing stars, and all three dug themselves into the heads of omnics. Through the small window of opportunity, they escaped into the forest.

Resistance in their path was considerably much less compared to the horde of omnics on their heels. They responded with their own fire as much as they could while maintaining their path back to the shuttle landing zone. An omnic jumped at them from the side, though McCree managed to quickly disable it with a few shots. Genji and Bastion took down several more than leapt in their way. Though they managed to get through each hurdle, more and more omnics seemed to be catching up. It was beginning to look like they might be overrun real soon.

It was then, with extreme glee, that Junkrat remembered he was no longer inside an old, crumbling building.

He removed as many bombs from his person as he could with one hand, while the other held the cowboy’s hat down on his head. He looked over his shoulder. The transforming omnic was behind him. Junkrat slowed a little until he was at the rear of the group. With a cackle, he raised his hands and let the bombs slip from his fingers.

The omnics that followed them too closely exploded into fiery scrap when they came into contact with a bomb. Junkrat’s laughter grew louder as he kept his gaze over his shoulder, watching the beautiful, beautiful bursts of light and fire. The ones that did not explode did so when another wave of omnics attempted to push through.

Junkrat pulled out the remaining bombs from his harness, eyes eagerly scanning for the closest group of omnics, but it looked like their attackers were no longer trying to approach them. Not like that ever stopped him. He lobbed his bombs, one by one, at their pursuers, each one successfully taking out a small group, and each tree his bombs damaged had him laughing with even more glee.

Genji and McCree quickly looked over at the bomber, a little concerned at how much he was enjoying his bombs. Genji looked at McCree. Despite the face-obscuring helmet, McCree could _feel_ the judgment emanating from the ninja. G enji ultimately said nothing. H e wasn’t about to complain. Their attackers _have_ backed off considerably, a little more careful than to simply jump at them.

Between the trees, the shape of the shuttle started to come together in the distance. With every bit of energy left, they picked up speed, closing the distance between the horde of omnics and escape as quickly as—

Junkrat’s laughter sounded a little distant than it should be.

McCree chanced a glance over his shoulder.

Junkrat lagged _way behind_ , accompanied only by Bastion , wh o beeped incessantly as if trying to tell the Junker to focus on running than bombing . Junkrat did not notice any of it — or perhaps _chose_ not to pay attention to any of it—while his gaze never left the explosions of his bombs.

McCree stopped in his tracks, turned around, and shouted.

“JAMIE!”

Junkrat’s laughter immediately ceased. He turned to find the source of the voice, and his eyes widened when he realized how far behind he was.

“BWEEEOO...!”

“Yeah, yeah, you told me so! Put a sock in it!”

Suddenly—perhaps it was from years of being hunted that he developed it—Junkrat felt a tingle at the back of his head. He was no stranger to the sensation, but the electric feeling startled him the same way it did the first time. He learned very early on that he should always trust the tingly feeling _and_ _duck._

He only barely bent his knees when a searing blast of a rifle shot just above his scalp.

“Bloody hell!” Junkrat shouted.

He’d reached the shuttle. McCree grabbed him by the arm and, with the Junker’s momentum, swung him into the shuttle. Junkrat yelped with surprise, landing on the floor on his arse.

“Ya bleedin’ yank! The hell!” He yelled.

“ _Sit your sorry ass down!”_

Junkrat stiffened and immediately shut up. He’d never heard the cowboy raise his voice quite so angrily before. Less so one directed at him.

He felt himself pressed slightly to the floor as the ship rose from the ground and into the air. Shots from their attackers rifles did little more than scratch the hull. A couple of minutes later, he was relieved of the downward pressure, as the ship achieved a comfortable altitude. Torbjorn announced from the cockpit that they’d arrive back to base in twenty minutes.

Roadhog eyed the new omnic. He turned to Junkrat, who still sat on the floor.

“Saved me life,” said Junkrat.

Roadhog neither nodded nor shook his head. He continued to silently look at Bastion for a few seconds more. He then walked to the other end of the cabin and plopped himself down onto the floor.

“Jamison?” A ladylike voice called him a little too formally. He knew that voice. It was the voice of the only person in Overwatch he actively avoided messing with and he would do everything in his power to avoid her wrath.

Junkrat immediately put up his hands. “NO NEEDLES!”

For a moment Mercy said nothing, startled by the leap in conversation. However, years of experience with strange patient reactions trained her to she recover quickly.

“If you behave, no needles.” Mercy promised, smiling sweetly. In her hand was a small, flat device. She tapped at its center, and a holographic screen floated above it. “This will only take a minute.”

A warm orange ray beamed from the device, and she meticulously ran the device top to bottom of the Junker, while her eyes focused on the numbers recorded on the holographic screen.

Junkrat looked for McCree, but the man was no longer in the cabin. He spotted the cowboy up in the cockpit, with the kinda-omnic ninja and the cool grandpa, discussing whatever it was that they normally did. Junkrat didn’t care about _that._

Suddenly he became extremely aware of the hat on his head. He took it off and turned it on his hands. Through the crown of the hat, a mere inch above the base, was a hole that ran straight through. His thumb brushed over the hole. He frowned.

“Is that McCree’s hat?”

Junkrat snapped his attention back to the doctor who looked at him with warm eyes. For a moment Junkrat felt like he could tell this woman anything and be certain he’d feel better after. He saw the scanning device had been turned off.

“You’re done?”

“Yes,” Mercy nodded. “Aside from a few bruises, you’ll be just fine.”

Mercy gave him a smile as she stood up, and joined the rest of the Overwatch agents in the cockpit. Junkrat was more than happy to have her leave.

He glanced over at Bastion. It stared back. A yellow bird popped out from its back. Junkrat blinked. When did that get in here? The bird flew across the cabin, and perched itself on the nose of Roadhog’s mask. It chirped. For a few long minutes, Roadhog did not move. The bird chirped again. It fluttered its wings a little more.

Slowly, Roadhog lifted a finger. He gently petted the bird on its head. The bird chirped again, taking flight around Roadhog before flying back to the omnic it stowed aboard with.

Junkrat turned to Roadhog with a hopeful grin. Roadhog did not respond, but Junkrat knew better. He smiled to himself, humming to himself a short melody as he pushed himself up to his feet. He looked at the cowboy's hat in his hands. He stared long and hard at the holes in it. McCree _was_ pretty pissed at him... Perhaps he should do something nice...?

“OH!” Junkrat exclaimed with a big grin, eyes lighting up with ideas. “Roadie!” Junkrat turned to the large man. In his excitement, he threw himself to the floor and skidded to a stop just at his friend's foot. He wrapped his arms around a boot and looked up with eyes large and wide. "Roadie Roadie Roadie! Roadie! I've got the best idea, Roadie, but I need your help!"

Roadhog said nothing, nodding to the bomber out of habitual indulgence. Junkrat jittered with excitement. An idealistic telling of his brilliant plan played in his mind. McCree couldn’t stay mad at him after this.


	5. Rhinestone Cowboy (Hat)

McCree couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being followed. Yet each time he turned, there was no one. No footsteps. No running. No giggling. He confided in Jack, who not-so-subtly advised him to pay Dr. Ziegler a visit.

It was a slow day at Overwatch HQ. McCree perched at his usual spot by the window in the recreation room. He lifted the cigarette out of his mouth and exhaled. As his eyes boredly followed the smoke trailing to the sky, he noted a gentle breeze on his hatless head.

It was three days since the last mission. Though they tripped over some hurdles, McCree found it to be the typical Overwatch mission experience. But the mission wasn’t giving him the jitters. Someone or something in the base was definitely keeping an eye on him. Sometimes he’d hear footsteps quickly shuffle away, too quick for him to recognize who it could belong to.

From his perch on the window, he could oversee the garden below. In the middle of the garden was, as was a usual sight lately, Bastion. Since the omnic’s regular attendance to the garden, more small wildlife seemed drawn to the garden—Often small birds and squirrels. A surprisingly friendly colony of honeybees started to take residence in one of the trees as well. A bright yellow bird—One that’s never left Bastion’s side—chirped a song to its omnic friend. Bastion beeped and booped, perhaps an attempt to sing along.

McCree sighed. What a slow day. He didn’t remember being bored like this. Not since Jamie joined Overwatch and started causing problems almost every day. He hadn’t seen or heard from the kid for a few days now. Three days, to be exact. He hadn’t seen his hat since the mission either—Not that he minded. He planned to get a new one anyway after the old one had holes shot through it.

It _was_ a large base, and Junkrat’s lair was very much isolated from every other facility. It made sense to not have run into him, really. No more complaints about vandalized spaces either, so there was nothing prompting him to seek out the Junker.

... Hm.

McCree put out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray. No way in hell could that kid behave for this long. He was either working on something big or fell into a coma—And McCree was sure it wasn’t the latter. He leapt off the window seat and left the recreation room.

After a particularly long distance of travel, he arrived in front of a reinforced door. He pulled at its latch and, after a couple of quick mechanical movements of the door’s inner workings, the door opened.

The room’s white walls were littered with scorch marks, all of which looked like they were the result of explosions. Even the ceiling had such marks, despite being twice higher than a regular room. Various bits and pieces of metals scattered across the floor, mostly near the workbench in the middle of the room. Despite the availability of a work surface, though, most of Junkrat’s tools and materials were on the floor. Even the table lamp was on the floor. Familiar spherical bombs occupied the workbench instead, sitting in a pile next to its launcher. A large, spikes-adorned tire rested underneath the workbench.

Behind the desk, and inspecting the tire, was the crouched figure of a machine-bodied ninja.

“Genji?” McCree called him.

Genji straightened to his full length, looking at McCree with shocked stillness, as if he’d been caught red-handed.

“What... are you doing?” asked McCree.

“Uh,” Genji toed away from the desk. “Nothing!”

Genji bolted past him and within a mere second he was already far, far away. The ninja was certainly very fast. And acting very strange. McCree made a mental note to mention it to Zenyatta.

Anyway, there was no Junker here. He left the room and decided to try the balcony.

After another long distance (he’d never been more grateful for elevators), he arrived at the balcony. To no surprise Roadhog sat in the middle, facing the beach in the far distance. A gentle breeze blew past.

“Afternoon, Roadhog,” McCree greeted. As he approached, he looked around the balcony, but found no one but the two of them there. “I was wonderin’ if you’ve seen Junkrat around?”

“Nope.”

McCree waited for Roadhog to offer more information. The man was, of course, truly a man of few words.

“Any idea where I might find him?” McCree asked.

Roadhog hummed, as if deliberating on what his answer would be. McCree frowned. Something was up here.

“Nope,” Roadhog finally answered.

Something was _definitely_ up, but McCree knew better than to contest Roadhog.

“Well, thanks anyhow, partner.”

McCree made a move to tip his hat, but his fingers found only hair. He settled for a nod, which Roadhog gave no response to. As usual.

McCree decided to try the cafeteria. Junkrat might be nicking sugar packets or something.

It was a shorter trek to the cafeteria, located just below the balcony level. He double doors to the cafeteria was, as usual, left wide open. He entered.

He quickly scanned the room. Tracer, Torbjorn, Mercy, and 76 sat at one table. A teaset was in the middle of the table, surrounded by plates of mini sandwiches and biscuits.

Again, no Junkrat.

“Heya McCree!” Tracer waved at him from the table. “Care to join us for afternoon tea?”

“Maybe later. I’m lookin’ for Junkrat. Any of you seen him around? I haven’t seen him in days. Kid didn’t blow himself up, did he?”

All four individuals at the table looked at each other.

76 was the one to ask him, “He hasn’t asked you?”

“Ask me what?”

“The lad asked me a couple days ago,” said Torbjorn. He looked to Mercy. “He asked you the same thing last night, didn’t he?”

Mercy nodded. “He refused to step into my office and shouted his question from across the hall, but yes. I thought he’d have asked McCree by now.”

“Ask me _what?”_ McCree repeated his question.

“I thought it didn’t make sense when he asked me, either,” said 76. “Satya mentioned he asked her and Mei too.”

“Wait,” said Tracer. “He asked all of us but not the most obvious person to ask?”

McCree was growing impatient. “Dad-blame it, what the devil are any of you talking about?!”

“Whoa there, McCree,” he heard a deep voice behind him. He turned to see that it was Winston. “What’s going on here?”

76 was the first to offer the gorilla an explanation. “It seems that Junkrat has asked everyone but McCree a question he’s more than qualified to answer.”

“Oh?” Winston paused for a moment. He tapped his fist on his palm. “Oh! He asked me as well! I told him to ask you instead, McCree. Did he?”

“Nay, he didn’t,” said Torbjorn. “That’s the puzzle.”

“Everyone stop wobblin’ jaws for one tarnal minute!” McCree raised his voice. “What in Sam Hill is the question?!”

Tracer shot up from her seat. She slammed her hands onto the table top with a loud, long gasp, causing everyone else to jolt with surprise.

“Lena!” Mercy scolded her for the sudden outburst.

“Nobody tell him!”

“What? Why?” 76 asked.

“Because!”

76 opened his mouth to question, but a look of realization dawned on him. The rest of them in the cafeteria, save for McCree, seemed to have the same epiphany as well, and nodded to each other. McCree thought he was going to explode his head off from sheer frustration. He was ready to simply leave the conversation because they were clearly going to be of no help. Bastion’s beeps would be more helpful than this.

Just as he turned towards the door, Symmetra entered the cafeteria.

“McCree, I believe a smelly, dirty man is in the hall looking for you,” she said with disgust on her face, nodding towards the doorway.

McCree followed her eyes. Whoever was peering from the side of the doorway quickly hid again. Then, slowly, an ash-patched face reappeared from the doorway.

“Jamie!” McCree cried with some relief. “There y’are!”

“Uh,” Junkrat retreated slightly from the doorway. “Hey, mate, can I, uh, talk to ya for a bit?”

McCree was thrown off by the seriousness in his voice. It lacked the usual piping voice with the usual timbre of unwarranted optimism for bad ideas. He worried that it was something truly concerning—and was, admittedly, curious that it was something Junkrat was approaching _him_ for, rather than his close companion Roadhog.

This must be pretty serious, he thought.

* * *

“Uh, hey gramps?”

Jack put down the dumbbells on the floor and turned around. It was Junkrat, standing under the doorway to the gym, surprisingly much calmer than was usual for him.

“That’s _‘sir’_ to you. What do you need?”

“I’ve got a question.”

“Get to it.”

Junkrat shuffled his feet. “McCree’s a... cowboy, right? One of those blokes from old timey Americas?”

Jack furrowed his brows. It was a little strange for him to hear McCree described as a ‘cowboy’, as if the word felt too simple for who McCree was... Yet it was also true that he embodied so many traits of one.

“In a sense, yes.” Jack replied with a nod. “He prefers fashion of that time period.”

“Right!” Junkrat suddenly perked up. “So I was wonderin’ what you knew about cowboys? Other than them not actually being some kind of man-cow. Roadie told me that already.”

This was a waste of time. Jack turned away and picked up the dumbbells from the floor again.

“I think this question is better answered by McCree himself.”

“... Please?”

The simple polite word sounded absolutely _foreign_ in Junkrat’s voice. So much so that Jack almost dropped the heavy weights on his feet. He remembered McCree mentioned once that the crude Junker had potential for manners—Jack didn't believe the cowboy then. He turned again to the Junker, whose face was devoid of sarcasm or flippant politeness. It was genuine politeness. Like a grandfather would for a child, Jack felt some pride for the young man, followed by a need to reward the change in behavior by obliging the question.

“Alright,” said Jack, leaving the dumbbells on the floor. He turned on the bench to fully face the Junker. “What do you want to know, exactly?”

“Anything you know about cowboys. Just anything.”

Jack thought for a moment. Cowboys and the whole wild, wild west scene was such a long time ago in history. The closest thing to them would be the Deadlock Gang, but not only were they no longer around, they would also make terrible examples.

“Well... For one, cowboys are called that because that’s what they called people who herded cows.” Jack thought for a moment, letting more and more of the subject surface in his mind. “They would do that while riding horses, so for most people cowboys and horses go hand-in-hand.”

Junkrat hummed with understanding. “Okay, so that’s... three people who’ve said horses,” Junkrat counted on his fingers.

“You’ve asked _three_ people? Did you even ask McCree?”

“Four, but mecha gramps didn't say anythin' about horses." Junkrat corrected him. "He said something about—What was it again... Winston said it too, I think it was a .. a cherry...?”

“Sheriff?”

“Yes!” Junkrat snapped the fingers on his right hand, but the metal tips did not clap as flesh ones would. “That’s a cowboy thing too, right?”

Jack, thinking that a sheriff would serve as a better example of cowboys than the more well-known gun toting, law breaking cowboys of the old west, was very quick to agree. Whatever Junkrat’s intention was, Jack wanted to steer it from crime as much as possible. He was already worth a ridiculous amount of money to law enforcement worldwide.

“Yep. That’s what they’re all about. Enforcing the law. Like the police.” Jack saw the distaste Junkrat had for the word ‘police’. “Some of them are vigilantes,” he quickly added. “They work outside the system. McCree used to do that. Well, he’s kind of still doing that in Overwatch as it is currently.”

"Oh," Junkrat's eyes sparked with curiosity. "So... would I be right to call McCree a sheriff?"

"Sure. Keeping the peace is what he does. A guy like him wouldn't be with Overwatch otherwise."

Junkrat nodded slowly. "Alright, and if I were to..." He put his palms together while his brain worked to express his question. “Say... _represent_ a sheriff with one thing, that would be their badges, right?”

“I suppose so,” Jack replied. “You could look all this up on the net, you know.”

Junkrat ignored the comment, and instead he shuffled a hand around the pockets in his pants. He then produced a sloppily folded piece of A4 paper. He opened it and held it in front of the soldier. The paper had sketches on it—A simplified doodle of a revolver, a cowboy hat (which was crossed out), and a star with balled ends with the letters SHAREIF printed in the middle of it. There were a couple of attempts to draw the heads of horses, but each one was scribbled out with frustrated lines. He could make out surprisingly well-drawn busts of the equine creatures underneath the wild zig-zag lines.

Junkrat pointed to the star. “Like this?”

Jack nodded, but he was more amazed by how well done the sketches were. There was a certain level of precision to the lines that implied the artist was a skilled one.

“Great!” Junkrat grinned, stuffing the paper back into his pants’ pockets. Jack screamed internally at how he treated the paper that contained such amazing sketches. Junkrat turned around as he waved at the man. “Thanks, gramps!”

Jack yelled at him to stop calling him that, but Junkrat was already long gone from the gym. Uneven steps eventually faded into the distance. It was a weird conversation, but perhaps everything to do with Junkrat would turn weird regardless. Kid was a little kooky.

Just as he was going to return to his reps, he heard soft clacks of heels quickly approach the door. Not his business. He just wanted to finish off his exercise session. He picked up the weights again.

“Morrison,” he heard his name.

“Hey, Satya. Need something?”

“Have you seen...” Symmetra cringed, as if the next word was difficult for her to say. “ _Junkrat_.”

“Yeah he—” Jack stopped. “ _You’re_ looking for Junkrat?”

“I do not wish to spend any amount of time within ten feet of that gangly homunculus of filth.” Symmetra pulled out a piece of folded paper. “I simply wish to answer a question he’d asked earlier. With this essay. Which I will throw at him from a reasonable distance.”

“Huh. What did he ask?”

“He wanted to know about cowboys. He came by Mei’s lab, where I happened to be. Mei kicked him out very swiftly, of course, but I... thought he looked like he really needed the question answered.”

“Ah. Well, I’ve already told him. Asked me the same thing.”

“Oh,” Symmetra’s eyes widened with surprise. “Then it is more urgent that I should find him and provide more factual answers.”

Symmetra turned turned away and left, no remorse for what she’d just said.

Jack sighed. Overwatch certainly attracted some characters.

* * *

Junkrat hid again from sight while McCree approached the door. He turned the corner to find Junkrat waiting for him. McCree felt some sense of fulfillment that he’d finally found the Junker.

“Junkrat!” McCree extended his arms open with a grin. “Now where on earth have you been, you troublemaker?”

McCree spotted something in the bomber’s hands. It looked like—

Junkrat lifted his hands and shoved the object to McCree’s face. He recognized it instantly.

“My old hat?” McCree asked, letting Junkrat drop the hat in his hands. There was a very slight but unfamiliar weight to it. He flipped it over.

A silver gleam caught his eye on the crown of his hat, where the hole in the front should be. A steel badge in the shape of a star with ball-tipped points pinned on top of where the hole was patched, hiding the seams of repair. Across the badge were engraved, in block letters, _SHARIFF._ He blinked at the misspelling. His fingers brushed on another metallic surface on the other side, where the second hole would be. He turned the hat and saw the hole was patched as well, but a line of three studs across it provided distracted from the fixing seams.

“I’m, er, sorry ‘bout the last mission,” Junkrat spoke without the usual shrill in his voice. “And ‘m sorry I, uh, got your hat shot.”

McCree looked at him incredulously. “Wait a minute. That why I haven’t seen ya in days? Ya been sneakin' around me? ... ‘Cause ya think I’m angry?”

“Yeah?”

McCree frowned.

“... Maybe?” Junkrat tried again.

“Boy, no knife in the world will be sharp enough to slice through the density that is your head.”

Junkrat looked worried. McCree grinned, and put the hat on. It was a complete feeling to have his hat on again.

“Thanks, Jamie. It’s perfect.”

Junkrat’s face contorted into one of pure excitement and happiness, as if he was never nervous before.

“No problem!” Junkrat laughed. “The badge’s a bomb too! Pull the latch behind it and lob at whoever’s botherin’ ya! Safe as me tire!”

McCree froze.

“Wait, wh—”

“I can always make more, too. Well, see ya around, mate!”

McCree watched with the horrifying realization that he had an explosive device on his head and he couldn’t take it off—Not without being a cold, heartless human being.


	6. To Bathe, Perchance to Drop Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Previously, I forgot what McCree’s hat looked like and assumed it was a plain cowboy hat without any embellishments. Please pretend his hat had less doodads before, on account of the additions Junkrat later made for him. Think of poor ol’ Jamie’s feelings.

What a bizarre sight.

Genji’s hand remained on the sliding door after having just moved it aside, confused by the sight before him. The meditation room opened directly into the garden, and in the garden were two individuals he _never_ expected to see getting along.

Far in the middle of the garden, an omnic and a lanky human crouched around a small mound of dirt, the latter being the one to dig in it with bare hands. Uprooted grass was strewn across the ground. Areas of plain dirt at the periphery of the garden were left undisturbed. It _had_ to be the grassy areas that they wanted to dig at. Not the designated gardening patches.

But one could not ignore how _happy_ the digging made Bastion. Its hands hovered palm-up over its knees, as if they contained something. Junkrat’s mouth never stopped moving, always talking, always making some kind of annoying sound. Genji noted with disgust at the dirt that caked on the Junker’s hands and arms—He was already so damn dirty in the first place and now he was getting even _dirtier._

Junkrat dug until his shoulders reached down to ground-level. He cheered, and so did the omnic. Bastion parted his palms. Small seeds fell into the hole. Genji was pretty sure no hole needed to be that deep for seeds.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” he heard a voice of metallic timbre next to him.

“The _garden_ is beautiful, master.”

Zenyatta laughed. “That as well.”

Genji knew he should turn away and ignore the shenanigans of the prejudiced Junker. Prejudiced, hypocritical Junker. Prejudiced, hypocritical, obnoxious Junker. Prejudiced, hypocritical, obnoxious, annoyi—

“It tells a lot of his true beliefs,” Zenyatta spoke, snapping Genji out of his thoughts.

“His true beliefs? I think that is already obvious.”

“True beliefs are born of one’s heart, uninfluenced by the world, but so repressed by the people closest to you that you begin to repress it yourself.” Zenyatta nodded at the pair in the distance. “He may have been a different man, were it a different world.”

Genji snorted, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked at the floating omnic.

“I think he’d still find something to be prejudiced about.”

“Mm. Perhaps.”

A small explosive sound burst from the garden. Genji’s attention snapped to the garden again, alarmed.

But there were no dismembered body parts. No bolts and metal pieces flying off in random directions.

The small explosive burst sent flower petals flying across the entire garden. Petals of pink and red gracefully floated down from above. Bastion held up its hands, beeping excitedly. Junkrat laughed, eyes wide with glee—Highly doubtful that he was excited for the flowers, more likely that he was excited for the explosion alone. The entire area was littered with pinks and reds. Petals floated on the small pond, flowing gently down the small stream, disappearing beyond a wall where the filtration system was.

A small breeze carried the petals towards the meditation room, smelling strongly of roses. Soft colours flew past. It reminded Genji a lot of autumn back home.

“How marvelous,” said Zenyatta with a laugh, reaching a hand out to catch a red petal.

Genji would not admit it, but neither did he want to deny it. It _was_ beautiful.

“Genji,” Zenyatta began, in a tone that made the ninja stand with attention.

“Yes, master?”

“What is this I hear of you rifling through our teammate’s personal items?”

Genji froze. Immediately his memory went to yesterday—when McCree caught him sneaking around inside Junkrat’s workshop.

“I...” Genji’s first instinct was to lie, but he could never lie to his master. Not even if he wanted to. “I found out about this treasure of his, one that so many want him for. I think it has something to do with Omniums. I don’t know what it is exactly, but... Master, if it is something that could affect all omnics, we would be stupid to leave such a thing in the possession of someone like him.”

Zenyatta hummed, nodding with understanding.

“Suspicions are reserved for enemies, my student. Is Junkrat your enemy?”

“Well, no, but—”

Zenyatta put a hand on Genji’s shoulder as he turned to leave. Genji was almost sure there was a smile on that otherwise rigidly metal face.

“Go make friends, Genji.”

Zenyatta floated away, leaving the meditation room. Genji looked at the garden again. The petals have all touched the ground, and their novelty had long worn off. Now, Junkrat was attempting to climb on top of Bastion, eyes unmoving from a bright red fruit up on a tree. He successfully found footing on Bastion’s shoulders. He stretched upwards and swiped at a fruit, but to no avail.

Genji sighed. He ought to _try_ and be nice to the Junker. Just this once. It would lead to another fight, this Genji was sure, but at least he could walk away knowing _he_ _tried_.

He stepped down from the polished wooden floor to the petal-covered grass and walked towards the pair. Junkrat swiped at fruit again, this time grazing the smooth skin of the fruit, but started to lose his balance. Bastion beeped frantically and tried to shuffle to compensate for the shift in balance, but ultimately Junkrat fell off of it, landing on the ground with his back.

“Bloody fruit.” Junkrat groaned, but he leapt up to his feet just as quickly. “One more time!”

Bastion beeped with relief and cheer. Junkrat started to pull himself over the omnic again when he noticed Genji looking.

“Whaddya’ want, ya half... omnic... man... thing?” he spat out.

“Really? Of all the names you could call me?"

“Get stuffed.” Junkrat pulled himself to a stand on Bastion’s shoulders. “I’m busy.”

“Busy... picking fruit?”

“Your eyes work!” Junkrat mocked surprise, rolling his eyes.

Junkrat reached towards the fruit again, but his fingers still merely grazed at the shiny skin. He frowned and tried again—

A swift movement sliced past the fruit’s stalk. Junkrat barely managed to catch the fruit. He saw a throwing star embedded in the tree trunk. Junkrat scowled at the ninja.

“I had it.”

“You’re _welcome,”_ Genji replied sarcastically. “If you wanted fruits we have plenty in the kitchen.”

“Yeah, well, we needed more apples."

Junkrat climbed off of Bastion and picked up a large bowl from the ground. There were four other apples in it. He turned to Bastion with a grin. “I think we’ve got enough, Basty. Let’s go find Hog!”

The two started to leave. Genji figured he was done ‘making friends’ with Junkrat for the day. He started to return to the meditation room. The sweet floral smell lingered. He noted how velvety the petals were under his feet. His eyes wandered, taking in the admittedly beautiful scene of petals dotting the garden. It was a mess, but it was a beautiful one.

He spotted a row of flowers in the corner of the garden, gated by an elegant iron fence. He always liked that particular patch. It was Angela’s personal little garden. It contained the most beautiful roses—

Genji stopped in his tracks. He ran towards the patch. There were no roses. No, there _were_ roses, but they were bald. Plucked clean.

Slowly, Genji picked up one of the red petals on the ground. These were _rose_ petals. The air smelled of _roses._

“Uh, hey.”

Genji almost jumped when he turned to find Junkrat standing by the other doorway to the building.

“You, uh,” Junkrat somehow managed to look both hateful and mousey. “Wanna... come with? Since you helped. A little.”

Genji looked back at the patch of bald roses. There was absolutely no chance he was going to hang around for Angela to find out what happened to her roses. Again.

“Yes, sure, let’s go,” he quickly uttered, almost leaping across the garden.

* * *

Genji followed the two to the cafeteria. Sitting near to the serving station was McCree, and behind the station, by a pot of boiling water was Roadhog, wearing an apron far too small to be functional for him. Far too _adorable_ in design too, but no one would dare point that out.

Junkrat shouted with cheer as he ran over to his close companion with the bowl of fruits. Genji followed Bastion to McCree’s table. He was hesitant to meet the man’s gaze, after being caught red-handed the day before. But McCree, ever the gentleman, waved at him pleasantly with a smile.

“I see you two have become friends.”

“Friend _ly,”_ Genji emphasized the last syllable. He sat across of the cowboy. “What’s going on here?”

“We’re eatin’ apples. Outback style.”

“BWEE!” Bastion beeped cheerfully.

McCree raised an eyebrow at the omnic, a questioning gaze searching the omnic’s face for anything resembling a mouth. Perhaps a slot that would allow consumption of food.

The omnic beeped in inquiry. McCree grinned, patting the omnic on the arm.

“Well... it’s the company that counts, right?”

“BWEE!”

Genji observed the kitchen area. A pot of boiling water. Butter. Lots of sugar. Cinammon. Sliced apples...

“So... sauteed apples?”

“Apparently you can’t eat fruits as is in Australia. So they cook it.” McCree leaned against the back of his seat. “I’m hankerin’ for a snack, so here I am.”

A shrill yelp caught their attention to the kitchen again. Roadhog held the head of the pull-out faucet in his hands, pointing it to Junkrat. The latter vigorously shook the water off of his hands, glowering at the larger man.

“McCree, I’ve been wondering,” said Genji. “Why were you so insistent that they join Overwatch? You're not just inviting random criminals and convincing them give up a life of crime, I know that much."

McCree laughed. “Aw, well... They just remind me of me, I guess.”

“What? They absolutely don’t share anything with you.”

McCree glanced over at the pair in the kitchen, a smile on his face. “People change, partner.”

Roadhog snatched the apple corer from Junkrat, who was about to core one of his bombs. Roadhog took the bomb away and pointed at a spot a little further from the cooking area. He then picked up the cored apples to be washed at the sink. Junkrat watched with interest from his new designated spot, not allowed to touch anything.

“You know... No one’s said it, and I’m trying to be polite, even if it’s him, but...” Genji paused for a moment. “He knows we have showers, right?”

McCree had to take a double take at Junkrat. He knew the young man was always caked in some explosive residue, but it had become a normal sight. He didn’t notice the new layer of mud at all. It was just normal to see Junkrat covered in... well, pretty much anything.

"‘Least he ain’t touchin’ the food, I suppose,” said McCree.

“No, I mean, he is truly, truly _dirty,”_ said Genji, a little more insistent. “Look at that hair. Is it brown? Grey? I can’t tell.”

McCree squinted. He couldn't quite tell either. There was just so much ash and dirt all over the Junker.

Roadhog and Junkrat appeared from the kitchen. The large man held in his hands a large pot, and balanced on the pot were several plates and spoons. Roadhog placed the pot on the table and started to fill the plates with servings of the sauteed apple slices.

McCree picked up a spoonful of the gravy into his mouth.

“Wow, this is mighty good eatin’.”

Roadhug grunted in acknowledgment, taking off the apron once he'd served everyone.

They settled at the table, idle chatter mostly filled by Junkrat and McCree. Genji could feel the weight of Roadhog’s suspicious glare in his direction, but he tried to ignore it. Junkrat poked at Bastion’s face with a spoonful of gravy—some childish attempt to feed the omnic. The latter beeped with pleads to stop dirtying its face with food.

He stared at the sweet-coated gravy before him. Might as well try and taste it.

He brought a hand to his face, and will a soft _click,_ the metal mask eased from his face. He gently put it aside. He picked up a spoonful of the apple slices and brought it to his mouth. The spoon clinked with his lower jaw, and he let the food slide down his throat.

Junkrat stared at him, mouth agape.

“Whoa, mate,” Junkrat breathed.

Genji said nothing. Not that he could speak at the moment. He waited for the inevitable questions to be asked about his metal lower jaw.

“Can you taste? Is it good?”

... That wasn’t the question he expected.

Genji raised his left hand with a thumbs-up.

“He can’t speak without the face helmet,” McCree explained.

“Oh. You caught a bomb with it or something?”

Genji’s eyes locked with his. Junkrat waited for an answer.

Roadhog slapped him over his head.

“Ow! What?!”

Roadhog grunted.

Junkrat’s expression changed, as if that single grunt explained everything. His eyes fell on the face helmet on the table while his left hand touched the metal one of his right. He said nothing else, face devoid of any telling expressions. Genji never thought he’d feel uncomfortable with how silent the bomber was for once. McCree noticed as well, and shot Roadhog a look. Roadhog shook his head. Whatever _that_ meant.

When Genji cleared his plate, Junkrat perked up.

“Have s’more, mate!” Junkrat opened the pot, grinning as he picked up the ladle, but Genji quickly raised a hand for him to stop.

He put on his face helmet, and it was seated into place with a click.

“I don’t require much food,” said Genji. “But thank you. It’s delicious.”

Junkrat stared at the helmet, slowly nodding. A mere second later, he returned to jovial optimism, running his mouth at hyperactive speeds. After the strange silence earlier, Genji found this manic babbling much less irritating than he thought. Perhaps the most active listener to Junkrat’s babbling was Bastion. The omnic responded to everything the bomber said, no matter how inane. McCree contributed to the conversation as well, but Roadhog remained ever silent.

“Thirds anybody?” Junkrat asked, holding up the ladle. “Or are we at fourths?”

“Think I’m good,” said McCree.

Roadhog shook his head. Junkrat opened the lid of the pot and peered inside. He stared at the contents for a full minute before taking his face away from it.

“Can I take this?”

Roadhog grunted. Junkrat turned to McCree.

“Sure, kid,” McCree allowed with a nod.

Junkrat returned the lid to the pot. With glee, he stood up and picked up the pot, and dashed out of the cafeteria.

“Where... Where is he going with that?” Genji asked.

“Who knows.” McCree stretched his arms with a satiated look on his face. “Probably going to blow it up.”

Roadhog snorted, amused at how accurate that was.

* * *

Junkrat carefully balanced the pot in his hands. His back hugged the wall and he listened. He listened very, very carefully. He approached a doorway and pressed a button. The door gave way to another room. He peered inside.

A lone figure worked, her back turned towards him. Hard light constructs before her emitted a soft glow, her hands moving gracefully for its construction. Junkrat took one step inside. He made no sound. Yet Symmetra’s head swiveled so fast, it was as if his feet were cymbals.

Symmetra scrunched her nose with disgust.

“Your smell gives you away,” she answered the unasked question.

“My smell?”

Symmetra noted the dirt that trailed behind him on the floor. "Ugh. Were you _rolling_ in mud? Like some kind of animal?"

“YOU!” A voice shouted behind him.

Junkrat gasped, jumping away from the source of the voice. Wide eyes turned to one incredibly angry Mei—without a coat.

“Oh!” Junkrat noted the lack of coat with surprise. So she _wasn’t_ fully snow people.

“What are _you_ doing here?!” Mei yelled at him. “Get out!”

“Now hold on, mate, I’m just—”

Mei pulled out her endothermic blaster. “I’ll count to three! ONE!”

“But these apples—”

Mei pointed the blaster at Junkrat’s peg leg. “TWO!”

“Just listen! Truce, mate! I—”

“THREE!”

With a squeak, Junkrat left the pot on a nearby table and fled as fast as his legs could take him.

Symmetra eyed the pot on the table. “What is that?”

Mei rolled her eyes. “Something explosive, probably.”

Symmetra hummed with curiosity. She stood up and approached the pot. Slowly, she lifted the lid.

“Oh. How sweet.”

“What?” asked Mei.

“Apples,” replied Symmetra. “I will not eat anything he’s touched, of course, but the sentiment is appreciated.”

“Why did he bring us _food?”_

“A truce? As thanks? One may never know with him and I don’t really care to know.” Symmetra closed the lid again. “You have it, Mei. It smells marvelous.”

“No way.” Mei stuck her tongue out with distaste. “Leave it. I’ll take care of it later.”

Symmetra nodded and returned to her work. Mei stared at the pot.

Perhaps she could freeze it and shatter it. Just to be safe.

She eyed the pot.

Slowly, quietly, she lifted the lid and poked a finger towards the bottom of the pot. She withdrew her hand and licked the finger.

Huh. it was delicious.

* * *

Junkrat returned to the cafeteria, where Roadhog, McCree, Bastion, and Genji still sat at the table. McCree noted the lack of pot with his return with surprise.

“You really went and blew up the pot?”

“Do I smell?”

It took McCree a second to realize Junkrat had changed the subject. He exchanged looks with Genji, reminded of their earlier conversation. Then they looked at Roadhog, wondering what he'd say.

“You know...” Roadhog spoke slowly. “Yes, actually.”

“Yeah, but is it bad? Like _bad_ bad?”

Roadhog looked at him from head to toe.

"... Didn't realize, but... you're also actually very muddy. You need a bath.”

“What? No, never needed one before. Just a lil’ scrubbing’ll do. A roll in the mud. A pat of dust. All that. Right?”

McCree’s eyes traveled to the caking mud on Junkrat’s arms. “Jamie, you’ve _already_ got mud on you.”

Junkrat looked at his arms.

“So?”

“So you don't need  _more_ mud. You need a bath.”

“Nah. I’m fine. Just wipe it off, right?”

Junkrat inched towards the door.

Roadhog stood up. “Jamie, it's just a bath."

“Nobody’s running! Nobody’s running ‘cause nobody needs baths!”

Junkrat inched closer to the door.

McCree stood up as well. Bastion beeped confusedly.

Junkrat turned on his heel and ran.

Genji shot to his feet. _“Get him!”_

Echoing from the corridors was Junkrat’s shrill, fearful screams.

* * *

Jack strolled down the corridors. For the first time in a while, he had nothing to do and he _wanted_ nothing to do. It was freeing to have the choice to not do anything for once. Perhaps he could stop by Angela’s office. See what she’s up to. Probably busy with... doctor business.

A rumbling noise grew from the distance. An earthquake?

He could hear a scream in the distance. Followed by shouts and yells. They started to sound closer and closer...

From the corner in front of him came running a shrieking Junkrat. Jack quickly leapt out of the way. Immediately, a speedy wind blew past him, and he caught the silhouette to be Genji’s.

“GET BACK HERE, RAT!” Genji yelled.

Jack sighed. Were they fighting _again?_

Then McCree appeared from the corner, who gave him a quick greeting salute as he ran past. Jack stared with shock. What the hell was—

A thundering noise boomed from the corner, and the floor shook under him. Roadhog ran down the corridor, his hulking figure caused Jack to do all he could to flatten himself against the wall.

“DON’T YOU _DARE_ THROW THAT BOMB JAMIE!”

His voice boomed through the walls, as if its sound waves were rocket-powered jackhammers. Roadhog’s voice alone was enough scare away entire platoons running for the hills. Junkrat froze, terrified by the large man’s threat. He retracted his hand that had been ready to lob a bomb, and chose to keep running instead.

Bastion ran past Jack, giving him a courteous beep as it did so.

Jack wanted to do nothing but relax today.

...

He sighed and ran after the group.

When he caught up, they ended up in Junkrat’s workshop. Each man panted and was out of breath. There was no Junkrat in the room.

“What is _going on_ here?” Jack demanded.

“Rat won’t take a bath,” said Genji.

“A _bath?”_

Jack was about to point out how ridiculous their behavior for a simple _bath_ was when he remembered that they were dealing with Junkrat _._ Who had probably never seen a bath in his life. And whose stink really carried around in the base.

He understood the urgency for Junkrat to receive a bath.

“All of you have learned nothing,” Jack scolded, slipping into command as natural as he did breathing. “Where is he now?”

Roadhog pointed at a ventilation grate high up on a wall. It had to be at least two storeys high from the floor.

... Of course. Just like a rat would.

Alarms blared throughout the base. Red lights flashed intermittently in the corridors.

“ _INTRUDER ALERT. INTRUDER ALERT.”_ Athena’s voice echoed throughout the base.

Jack groaned. He activated his communication device.

“Winston, it’s fine. Just a rat in the ventilation systems,” Jack’s voice transmitted across everyone’s communicators.

“ _A rat? But it’s a human fig— ”_

“It’s Junkrat. He won’t take a bath.”

For a few long minutes, there was only the blaring alarms that filled the air.

The alarms then faded, red lights no longer flashing in the hallways.

“ _He’s climbed up to the second floor. Hurry up and get him a damn bath.”_

Nobody would disagree that Junkrat needed a bath.

Jack turned to the rest of the men and nodded for them to follow. They ran out of the room and climbed up a stairway to the second floor, arriving into the corridor adjacent to Junkrat’s personal quarters.

“Genji, Roadhog, guard the corridor,” Jack ordered. “McCree, Bastion, with me.”

Jack led the two towards the door to Junkrat’s room. He slapped his hand at the panel next to it and the door slid open instantly to a modest, but comfortably sized room. There was a single bed, which was surprisingly neat—almost as if it was never used. In fact, everything in the room looked as it was before it was assigned to Junkrat. As if the bomber never even used the room.

Hanging from a the ventilation duct on the ceiling was none other than Junkrat.

Junkrat spotted them and quickly tried to climb back into the ducts, but Jack leapt at his legs and pulled him down to the floor.

“Take the damn bath, Junk _brat!”_ Jack shouted, bringing his arm into a lock around the Junker’s head.

“No! Fuck you, gramps!”

He dug his teeth into the flesh of Jack’s arm. Jack hissed and momentarily let his grasp around the young man slack, but a moment was all Junkrat needed. He slipped out of the lock. McCree readied himself to stop him at the door, but Junkrat instead leapt to the side, towards the bed.

Before he could properly register that Junkrat was trying to do, a blanket loomed over him. McCree swatted at the blanket, but it landed on his face anyway. By the time he managed to get the blanket off of him, Junkrat was already out the door. Junkrat managed to do all that in the few seconds it took for Jack to recover.

He and McCree looked at Bastion, who he expected to stop Junkrat, but merely looked on with confusion. Bastion beeped innocently.

No time to waste. The two men ran after Junkrat, leaving the confused omnic behind.

But when they returned to the hallway, they found it filled with smoke. Neither Genji nor Roadhog were really affected by it, but they lost Junkrat nonetheless. The bomber was nowhere in sight.

“The vents,” Genji pointed at a grate that had been exploded out of its place. “He’s back in.”

“Seriously?” McCree looked at the opened grate with raised brows. “That’s amazing.”

“Yeah,” Roadhog said proudly.

“This isn’t the time to be impressed,” Jack reminded them. He looked at the size of the ventilation duct. “How does he even crawl around in there so quickly?”

“Should we leave cheese and a mouse trap outside the vents?” Genji suggested.

Before Jack could groan and remind Genji to be serious, another alarm blared throughout the base. As Athena’s voice announced the presence of an intruder, the corridors were immediately closed off from each other. Metal doors dropped down at the junction of each corridor, sealing and sectioning away every room and hallway in the base.

“Winston,” Jack almost sighed when he activated his comm. “Junkrat’s just crawled back—”

“ _We have an actual intruder. Junkrat’s not the only one in the ducts.”_

“Wh—Are you serious?”

“Of all the times...” Genji mumbled.

“How many?” Jack asked.

“ _It's only one person. They’re on the third floor. Tracer and I are going intercept them. I’m trying to contact Junkrat, but he’s not answering.”_

“He _did_ get a new communicator, didn’t he?” Genji asked.

Three pairs of eyes turned to Roadhog.

“Entirely possible that he didn’t put it on,” said Roadhog.

“Of course it is,” Jack said with defeat. “Everyone keep an eye out for Junkrat. If you find him, make sure he stays put.”

 _“That’s a bit impossible, isn’t it?”_ Tracer’s voice appeared in the comms.

“ _Just knock the boy out,”_ Torbjorn answered on the comms. _“He’s got a hard enough head.”_

“ _There will be no knocking out of your own teammates!”_ Mercy scolded.

“Enough,” Jack called for a halt in the banter. “What are everyone’s positions?”

After a quick call of each of their locations, it seemed that they were the only ones on the second floor—Everyone else, besides Tracer and Winston, were on the first floor. It was fortunate that the intruder was only one person.

“Alright,” said Jack, after ending his communications with the others across the base. “The intruder is still on the third floor. According to Winston, Junkrat is crawling back down to the second floor. Genji, join up with Bastion and keep an eye out for the brat in case he drops down this ventilation shaft again. The rest of you, with me.”

Genji nodded and parted from the group, the doors giving way to him as he approached each one. Roadhog and McCree followed Jack to the opposite end of the corridor. The doors, too, gave way to them automatically with their approach.

“Of course making Jamie take a bath would be this difficult,” said McCree with a tired sigh. “I should never have expected any less.”

Jack grumbled. “I’m going to shove the brat into a bathtub one way or another if it’s the last thing I do.”

“What _does_ he have against baths?” McCree asked Roadhog.

“... Don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“Never told me. _Won’t_ tell me. Just keeps saying he hates water.” Roadhog thought for a moment. “... I’ve never seen him clean before.”

“Oh, you’ll see him clean today,” said Jack flippantly. “We’ll tie him up. Sedate him. I don’t care. After all we’ve gone through he _will_ be washed.”

Suddenly, the comms in their ears buzzed to life with Genji’s voice.

_“It’s Junkrat! He’s crawling through the ducts, moving to your position, Jack!”_

Almost at the same time, Winston spoke into the comms as well.

_“The intruder’s moved down to the second floor vents! It’s an arachnid omnic, and it’s fast!”_

It took them a moment to realize what the two pieces of news meant when put together.

They looked at each other and collectively uttered, “Shit.”

They heard the sounds of thumps against light metal. The turned their heads up. The ventilation duct shook. Junkrat was approaching. Very quickly.

Jack immediately armed his weapon and aimed it at the duct—

_BOOM!_

An explosion tore a hole through the duct. Where they expected to see Junkrat dangling down from the hole, there was instead the bright violet, metallic appendages of a large spider omnic. Its legs scuttled and struggled, swiftly pulling itself up the vents again.

Junkrat moved just as quickly through the ducts. They could hear him pass them overhead.

“Jamie!” McCree shouted as they ran after the sounds of his movements, hallway doors giving way in their approach. “Blow yourself an exit!”

“Whaddya _think_ I’m tryina’ do, ya bloody yank?!” Junkrat’s shouts quickly grew more distant. “It’s got me arm in its bloody mouth!”

Jack lowered his weapon. Shooting at the intruder was not an option anymore. They were approaching the hallway to the balcony. Any further, and the intruder could move up or down the ventilation shaft again. His own weapon did not have the firepower to totally obliterate the ventilation duct’s continuity.

“Roadhog,” Jack called to him while looking at the ducts.

The large man nodded in understanding. He pulled out his scrap gun and shot a good few meters ahead of where the intruder was.

But the intruding omnic did not fall down the large gaping hole—It _burst_ through it, and crashed through the glass doors to the balcony. It was only for a split second that they caught sight of Junkrat—Metallic arm in the clutches of an arachnid omnic’s fanged mouth while the omnic let his body take the brunt of the impact.

They rushed to the balcony. The omnic leapt off the balcony. With Junkrat’s arm still in its mouth, a thick, intertwined cable shot from its mouth. The cable latched on to an old utility pole.

McCree drew his pistol and shot the cable. The omnic dropped mid-swing, and Junkrat with it. They fell down—with a loud splash.

The men sprinted to the edge of the balcony. The omnic sunk into the pond. Bubbles erratically broke the water’s surface as the omnic pinned Junkrat underwater at the bottom of the pond.

Jack ordered everyone on the first floor to go to the garden and get Junkrat out. He was about to turn around and make a mad dash for the stairs when Roadhog leapt from the balcony. Jack watched the man leap from the second storey to the ground below with absolute horror. Roadhog settled on the ground below with a loud _thud,_ but stood uninjured from the fall.

Almost as soon as he landed, the pond exploded.

Water burst forth from the pond, shooting high into the sky in a streams of crystal clear, pink, and red. It returned downwards as a brief deluge of rain, flower petals weighted down by the water dropped gracelessly. The pond was now less of a pond and was more a hole in the ground, with only a few inches of water left in it. In the middle of the pond was the omnic, though it seemed to be unmoving. Its body started to move—but it turned out to be Junkrat, struggling to push the heavy metallic arachnid body off of him. Roadhog hopped into the empty pond and kicked the unmoving body off. Junkrat sat up, coughing water out his mouth.

Wasting no more time, Jack and McCree ran back into the hallway and downstairs towards the garden, where the rest of the team already gathered. Junkrat climbed out of the pond—and in his left hand was his right arm, detached from the port on the stub of his right upper limb. He panted, and struggled to pull himself up. Roadhog gave him a push, and he finally had enough of his upper body on the ground to pull the rest of himself out of the empty pond. He turned around and growled at Roadhog.

McCree rushed to his side and offered him a hand. “You alright, cowboy?”

Junkrat slapped it away with the prosthetic arm in his hand. He stood up, dripping with water and burnt petals from head to toe. Despite the petals on his body, he smelled only of burnt leaves. His wild locks now appeared wilted on his scalp. Ash and dirt had all washed away from his entire person, revealing a young man who looked... _not_ crazy. His body shook, but his jaw did not stutter. It may have been due to the cold, but the mixture of fear and anger in his eyes told otherwise.

Junkrat shot McCree a most toxic glare.

“Fuck you,” he seethed, pointing his detached prosthetic at the cowboy, and then pointed it to Genji. “Fuck _you.”_ He turned to Jack and jabbed the prosthetic fingers on the soldier’s chest. “And fuck _you._ Fuck _all_ of you and your baths.”

Junkrat stormed past them, shoulders hunched even more then usual.

“Jamie—” McCree tried to call him.

“Go fuck yourself!” Junkrat yelled, throwing his prosthetic at the cowboy’s face. He flipped his left hand’s middle finger at the cowboy before disappearing behind the doorway.

Roadhog climbed out of the pond and quickly ran after the bomber. Mercy looked worriedly at the doorway.

“I... suppose I shouldn’t check on him just yet.”

“If it's anything serious, Roadhog will let you know,” said Jack.

Mercy nodded. Genji noticed she was staring at the flower petals all over the ground. She looked at the little flower patch enclosed by a fence. Extreme irritation almost took over her features, but, being the professional that she was, she focused on the matter at hand. Genji breathed a sigh of relief.

Winston called Jack to help him pull the dead arachnid omnic out of the pond. They successfully dragged it out, and saw that its face was thoroughly disintegrated—Definitely a result of Junkrat’s bomb. Jack gave out a few more orders—for Torbjorn and Winston to examine the dead omnic, for Tracer and Symmetra to run security checks on the entire compound, and for the rest to be on alert. When they dispersed, Jack sighed and walked back to where McCree and Genji stood.

“Now that _that’s_ taken care of...” Jack glanced at the pond, then at the doorway where Junkrat had left. “What the hell just happened?”

McCree looked worriedly at the orange prosthetic arm in his hands. It looked badly damaged, as if it had taken the brunt of the explosive force.

“I reckon that Jamie more than just _hates_ water,” said McCree.

"You don't say." Jack sighed. “... Just all bad luck today, huh?”

His eyes fell on the prosthetic arm and the extent of its damage.

“That doesn't look good. Does it?"

“No.” McCree frowned. “I’ll... try to see if he’s doin’ alright.”

"Thanks, Jesse. I need to go look at the omnic with Torbjorn. I'll drop by after?"

"I'll let you know when he's less inclined to blow you up."

Jack chuckled, but the humour did not last. He waved and left.

McCree exhaled. He lifted his hat, combing his hair to the back as he did so.

“... Blonde.”

McCree almost jumped. He had forgotten Genji was still there with him. He looked at the ninja questioningly.

“His hair. It’s blonde,” Genji said again.

McCree smacked him upside the head.


	7. Right Hand of Junkership

As McCree approached the very extreme end of the base, the ground trembled more and more. He was getting closer to Junkrat’s workroom. By the sounds—and feel—of it, the latter must be very upset.

McCree found Roadhog standing outside the closed door of Junkrat’s workshop. While the walls rattled, Roadhog spotted McCree approaching and greeted with a weak wave of his hand.

“He’s... mighty upset, huh?” McCree asked as he handed to Roadhog the prosthetic arm.

Roadhog looked at the door. “My fault.”

“Roadhog—”

“No, _I_ should know better. _I_ know him.” Roadhog noticed at the bright coloured prosthetic. “... Looks bad.”

Roadhog knocked on the door, but the explosions from within drowned his attempt to gain Junkrat’s attention. Roadhog drew in a deep breath.

“Jamie—”

“FUCK OFF!”

 _BOOM!_ Another explosion rattled the walls.

“I have—”

_BOOM!_

“—your—”

_BOOOM!_

“—ARM!”

Silence.

“... Jamie?” Roadhog tried.

“Leave it by the door and piss off.”

A dull metallic rattling resounded. It sounded like Junkrat’s grenade launcher hitting the floor. A soft thud followed, as if Junkrat dropped to sit on the floor. Wordlessly, Roadhog did as instructed and put the arm on the floor.

“Stay here,” Roadhog whispered to McCree. “I’m going to get something.”

McCree had no idea what Roadhog had in mind, but Roadhog left down the hallway before he could get a word in. McCree waited for a bit, wondering if Junkrat would be coming out of the room on his own to take the arm.

After a few long minutes, it was begining to feel like Junkrat knew McCree waited outisde.

“Hey, Jamie—”

“Fuck off, yank.”

“Jamie, I’m sorry. You shouldn’t be hiding in there like this. We didn’t...” McCree’s words trailed off, realizing that there really was little he could say. “I’m really sorry.”

No answer from the other side. McCree waited—There was nothing he could say _but_ sorry.

“It’s...” Junkrat’s voice sounded restrained, as if he struggled to think of the right words. “not... any of that. I’m just...”

Junkrat exhaled deeply.

“... It’s none of yer fault,” Junkrat spoke much softer than was usual for him. “’Specially not Roadie’s. He’s the best buddy a bloke could ask for.”

_Sniff._

McCree’s eyes widened. Was he...?

“Yank,” Junkrat continued. “I’m going to open the door to take me arm. I don’t want do this touchy-feely thing. I don’t even want to look at ya. I just want to fix me arm and sleep.”

McCree crossed his arms and frowned, despite the other party being behind a door.

“Alright, you _don’t_ have to do this ‘ _touchy-feely_ _thing_ ’, but you gotta at least let me take a look at you.”

“I’m _breathin’,_ aren’t I?”

“You fell through glass and then down from the second floor. I’ve jumped through glass before, kid. It was _not_ great, and I didn’t even fall off a height after. And I wasn’t goin’ ‘round shirtless.”

Junkrat was silent.

“Jamie, _somewhere’s_ gotta hurt, and I know ya can’t get all the glass out yourself. I’m going to go get the doctor—”

“No doctors!”

“... or I’ll just go get a kit. Sounds good?”

For a few seconds, Junkrat said nothing.

“... Where’s Roadie?”

“He went to get something. I’m going to be back with a first aid kid. Don’t go sleepin’ with those shards on your back, y’hear?” McCree thought for a moment. He picked up the mechanical arm from the floor. “I’m takin’ this arm with me. Don’t sleep until I get back.”

Junkrat groaned. At least he wasn’t moving from his spot. McCree quickly ran down the hallway to find Mercy’s office. Fortunately, Mercy was in. After a quick explanation of what he needed and why, Mercy gave him repetitive reminders to call to the doctor if the injuries were serious and a small kit enough for clearing and disinfecting wounds. He quickly made his way back to Junkrat’s workshop.

McCree knocked on the reinforced door. He tired to pull at the door’s latch. To his surprise, it opened. Junkrat must’ve unlocked it already.

In the middle of the room was a lone Junkrat, sat facing away on the floor surrounded by numerous grenades, many of which lacked the yellow paint that was typical of his weaponry. The lack of the rest of his upper right limb was immediately obvious—A flat metal port with a couple of small prongs jutting out covered the stub end. McCree noted with a wince at the glass shards that dug itself into the Junker’s back. There weren’t as many as he expected, but what few there were still drew blood, and they needed removing.

Junkrat bounced a spherical grenade in his hand. He lobbed it at the far opposing wall. Naturally, the grenade exploded, adding more burn marks to the wall. He did not savour the explosion as he usually would and picked up another grenade.

“Hey partn—”

Junkrat yelped. He threw his grenade at the source of the voice. McCree ducked. The grenade missed him by a mere inch as it flew over him, out the door, and finally explode on the hallway wall. McCree stared at the blackened spot on the wall. That shot would have been deadly accurate if McCree hadn’t reacted in time.

Junkrat frowned. “Bloody hell, don’t do that.”

Roadhog appeared at the doorway, unphased by the explosion that just occured before him earlier. In his hand was a tall glass with a large straw. The glass was an opaque colour—McCree could not see its contents. Junkrat watched the glass with curiosity.

Roadhog handed the drink to the bomber. Junkrat looked inside it with wide eyes. All manner of bad temper disappeared from his face, replaced only by awe and anticipation. A small sip from the straw was enough for Junkrat to ignore everything else. Roadhog sat across of him and nodded to McCree to proceed.

McCree put the medical kit on the floor behind Junkrat. Upon closer inspection, he might just be able to remove all the shards without the doctor. Junkrat should still let Mercy take a look at him, somehow—That was never going to happen without some godly intervention.

He set the prosthetic arm down next to Junkrat. Junkrat stopped and turned to look at the arm, and a scowl returned to his face.

“Ya need help fixin’ it?” McCree asked. “I know a thing or two about these things.”

McCree flexed his left arm, a mechanical one that was a more serious colour than Junkrat’s. Junkrat looked at McCree’s arm, the scowl turned to mild surprise, as if he’d either forgotten McCree had a mechanical arm, or if he’d just never given it much thought. From his face alone, it was obvious he had a burning question, but he stubbornly let it go unasked.

McCree decided to humour both his silence and unasked question.

“It was after I left Overwatch,” said McCree, opening the medical kit. He retrieved a small pair of tweezers. “Came across my old gang. Well, what was left of them, anyway.”

He plucked out a shard. Junkrat hissed, turning around to glare at him with warning. McCree offered an apologetic chuckle. “No way this wasn’t gonna hurt, kid.”

Roadhog put his hand on Junkrat’s head and firmly made him turn away, wordlessly telling the bomber to let the cowboy help. Junkrat let out a _hmph,_ but nevertheless obeyed, continuing to nurse the drink in his hand, which smelled vaguely of milk. McCree continued to remove the shards, with no further reactions ths time.

When the last ones were out, he soaked a gauze cloth with disinfectant. The sting of the fluid on the wounds did not shock Junkrat as McCree assumed it would.

“Then what?” Junkrat asked.

“Hmm?”

“You know. Your gang cut off your arm?”

“Ah. Yup, they sure did.”

“And ya killed them after?”

“Would’ve needed two mechanical arms if I hadn’t.”

Junkrat did not say anything else, but his interest was evident. Roadhog glanced from him to McCree. McCree stared back questioningly. Roadhog did not react—Well, perhaps he did, but with that mask it was impossible to tell.

Junkrat put his drink down and picked up his prosthetic. He flipped it over and over again, going over every inch of its construction.

He glanced over his shoulder. “You about done?”

“Just about,” said McCree.

He pulled out a few large skin-coloured square strips. He peeled off one from its smooth plastic protection, revealing a soft gel surface—A medical invention that did wonders to skin-deep injuries. He carefully plastered it on Junkrat’s back. The patch, though skin-coloured, was a stark contrast to the skin’s actual lighter colour. Seeing no reaction from the Junker, McCree continued until he’d covered all of the largest wounds.

“All done,” said McCree, closing the medical kit. “Now you feel anythin’ out of place, you go see the good doctor, y’hear?” He remembered immediately that Junkrat would never do such a thing, so he added, “Or you let me know. We’ll sort it out one way or another.”

Junkrat did not respond. He stood up and walked over to his work table. He put his prosthetic on it and flipped the desk light’s switch. McCree wordlessly looked to Roadhog, as if to ask if it was alright to stick around. Roadhog gave him a quick nod while he also got up, picked up the drink from the floor and walked over to the bomber. Junkrat’s eyes continued to study his arm while he absent-mindedly accepted the drink from Roadhog.

McCree stood up. He craned his neck to view the arm from Junkrat’s angle. The latter leaned back slightly and stuck his peg leg into a excessively full crate. He slid it out from under the table. Somehow, from the huge pile of assorted tools, it took him only one try to yank out the exact one he needed: A couple of makeshift metalworking vices connected to one another by a metal beam welded to the sides, weighed down by a metal base. The base was hollow on one side, possibly to allow for the use of clamps to hold it in place. He placed it on the desk, and, with a single hand, dextrously secured the prosthetic between the vices.

Junkrat gently poked at the internal workings, moving parts away to access the extent of damage. There were small splatter of orange paint on the gunmetal grey parts. Besides the paint, the arm had nothing else to show for itelf. It displayed far less character than the peg leg, which was covered with stickers and childish doodles.

“You got everything you need to fix it?” McCree asked.

Junkrat snorted. “It’s made of scrap. Whaddya’ think?”

“Really?” McCree looked at it with awe. “A prosthesis like this?”

“Ah, well, the real fancy parts are fine. Shielded ‘em all with the scrap parts. Those are all pretty much gone. Really not as bad as it looks.”

He took a sip from his drink. McCree could see little square pieces of... grass jelly? Those looked like one of Mei’s snacks. McCree decided not to ask.

Roadhog grunted. Junkrat turned to him, as if he’d spoken.

“Yeah, mate. I got this.”

Wordlessly, Roadhog moved away, settling down at one side of the room where there were some piles of blankets and pillows. Magazines and comic books laid strewn all around, no less messier than the rest of the room. Roadhog picked up a random magazine off the ground and started reading.

McCree looked around the rest of the room—He’d never really gave the room a good look before. He noticed there was a—some kind of metallic couch a little farther from where Roadhog was. A thick blanket spread over the couch carelessly, and a large pillow slumped over the edge. This must be where the bomber slept.

Littered among the metal scraps across the entire workshop were also various papers, blueprints, pencils, pens, pillows... It was a mess. The only clear areas were the paths well-trodden—From the door to the work bench, and from the work bench to the couch. There were a couple of large beanbags by the work bench, one had a vague imprint of Junkrat’s frame. The other seated his RIP Tire.

Junkrat eyed McCree, then Roadhog, and back to McCree. He said nothing and resumed his work to repair his mechanical arm. McCree had no idea what that meant, but he wasn’t being shooed away. In fact, the two Junkers continued on with their business, paying no mind to the cowboy’s presence. Considering the two’s personalities, it actually felt rather welcoming—McCree was beginning to be a comfortable norm to the Junkers.

McCree found it quite comfortable as well to take a seat on the vacant beanbag. He picked up the nearest magazine. It was a foreign, english-language publication. He looked at the date. This was from fifty years ago. One of the pages was dog-eared—It had an article about an Indian celebration, titled _Widow’s Holi_. On the page next to it was a large, full-page photo of a happy woman who held her hands up to marigold and rose petals raining down from above.

He had nothing else to do anyway. Everyone else was busy with the aftermath of the omnic intrusion. He made himself comfortable and started to read the magazine from the front cover.

He was a couple of pages from the back cover when he heard a yawn.

“You wanna continue after a nap, partner?” McCree asked Junkrat, putting down the magazine.

“No way. If some bloke’s gonna come at me in my sleep I want to at least have all me limbs.”

“Nobody’s going to come at you in your sleep,” Roadhog replied from his end of the room, casually flipping to the next page of his magazine.

“They better not. I put traps ‘round the place... Don’t remember _where_ exactly, though. Hm.”

“You have traps in here?” asked McCree, looking around the room nervously.

“Got ‘em all over the base, mate. Only way I can sleep proper.” Junkrat scratched his chin. He looked at the ventilation grate up on the wall. “I should start putting some in the vents.”

McCree wanted to tell the young man to _definitely not_ do so, but after what happened today, he decided to let him muse over the idea for now. He’d tell him to consult Winston first some other time. He put the magazine away.

“You’ve had a rough day. A nap will do you good,” he said. “I promise nothing will happen.”

“I’ll stay and keep watch,” Roadhog added. “Make sure nothing happens.”

Junkrat frowned. He looked at his still-broken prosthesis.

“Alright, alright,” Junkrat spoke with some relief. “Screw me arm, then.”

The bomber walked to the side of the room with the couch. He laid himself down and pulled the blanket over himself. So that _was_ his bed. McCree had learned there was no benefit in questioning Junkrat’s lifestyle, so the question never really fully formed in his mind. Junkrat turned away from the rest of the room. He did not move anymore, perhaps already falling asleep.

“I’ll go see what the others are up to,” said McCree, standing up and moving towards the door. “See ya, Roadhog.”

“Mako.”

“Pardon?”

“My name. Mako.”

McCree knew that much, of course, but no one in the base ever called him that. No one _dared_ to. If Junkrat himself never called Roadhog by his actual name, then it was likely safer for everyone involved to also never call him by his actual name.

“Should I... call you that?”

“If you want.”

“Ah. Well. In that case.... see you later, Mako.”

Roadhog nodded. He resumed reading his magazine.

McCree appreciated how casually Roadhog treated the conversation. He did not know for what reason Roadhog let him use his real name, but McCree knew these Junkers were not manipulative people. They were as direct in their approach to criminal activities as they were in social situations.

He closed the door behind him. He decided to check in Torbjorn’s workshop, hopefully to find Jack still there.

* * *

Roadhog looked behind him to see Junkrat’s back facing outwards from the couch.

“Jamie,” Roadhog called him. “You awake?”

Junkrat mumbled a response. That much was enough.

“Sorry,” Roadhog continued.

Junkrat groaned. “Forget it, Hoggy. None of yer fault, honest.”

Roadhog would argue, but there was little point arguing with Junkrat about anything. He took this ordeal as a lesson, and swore to himself it’d never happen again.

Junkrat, however, had a knack for knowing what Roadhog was thinking. He sat up with a frown, as if Roadhog had actually said anything contrary.

“You always done right by me, Hoggy,” Junkrat said. “Even when you’re being a dick, you’re thinkin’ of what’s good. Can’t be mad at ya for being the best mate a guy could have.”

Roadhog felt his chest swell with pride, care, accomplishment, warmth... Concern.

“What happened?” he asked.

Junkrat shrugged. “Don’t like water.”

“I know. Why?”

Roadhog knew Junkrat had trouble properly recalling the details of his own history. It wasn’t the first time he tried to ask Junkrat about himself, and it wouldn’t be the first time Junkrat failed to remember meaningful details about himself.

Perhaps it took too much concentration that Junkrat simply refused to spend. Maybe he truly knew nothing and was frustrated by his lack of history. Whether he remembered or not, all that mattered to Roadhog is that he now recognized the extent of Junkrat’s aversion to water. Forcing Junkrat to try and recall something the he simply could not—or would not—helped no one.

“It’s okay,” he said assuringly. “Go to sleep.”

Junkrat bit his lower lip, but said nothing. He turned away and laid down again. He grasped the edge of the blanket into his fist, pulling it close.

* * *

Other than the mechanical room, Torbjorn’s workshop was the next closest room from Junkrat’s. The door, though also made of durable metal, was not as intensely reinforced as the one to Junkrat’s workshop. McCree pushed the door open.

Torbjorn’s work room also contained all manner of metals and tools, but they were at least littered on the tables and not the floor. In the middle of the room was a large square table, and spread across it were carefully dismantled parts of an arachnid omnic. Torbjorn, Winston, and Jack stood around the table, each looking deep in thought.

“Uh, y’all busy?” McCree asked as he walked over.

All three heads turned to him.

“McCree,” Jack said. “How’s Junkrat?”

“He’s... well enough, all things considered. He’s takin’ a nap now.”

The three of them looked at each other.

“What?” McCree asked.

“We’re trying to figure out _why_ this omnic came for Junkrat,” Winston explained. “It might have been for some blackmail tactic, but when it first appeared on the third floor, it had every opportunity to take anyone else. It didn’t. Its path throughout the ventilation systems were always moving towards Junkrat.”

“Might be personal,” Torbjorn offered. “Maybe the lad killed this omnic’s friend.”

“We can deal with that if that is the case,” said Jack. “But if it isn’t, it means we’re dealing with the entirety of Null Sector going after Junkrat.” He turned to McCree. “We thought you might know something. I’d ask him myself, but...”

Jack let his words trail off, but McCree understood what he meant. McCree tried to recall anything Junkrat might have mentioned. The Junker had plenty of enemies, on account of not only being a globally recognized criminal, but also for royally upsetting someone influential back home. None of them were specifically omnics, though. The one time omnics were mentioned...

“His treasure,” said McCree, recalling their last mission. “Something about finding it in an Omnium. He mentioned it when he used the old omnic barracks’ communication line. I’d say it’s a pretty good guess the line wasn’t secure.”

“He found something from the Omnium in Australia?” Torbjorn asked, dumbfounded. “Whatever he’s got, it can’t be good! He’s got to destroy it!”

“Now, hold on a minute,” Winston interjected. “If it’s possibly something that could help—”

“Nothing good comes from Omniums! Where’s the lad? I’ll take it from him and destroy it myself!”

Torbjorn leapt from the tall stool and marched towards the door. McCree quickly stepped in his way.

“Listen here,” McCree spoke with warning. “I didn’t tell you all that just so you can go bullrushin’ him in his sleep.”

Torbjorn raised his hand to contest, but Jack chimed in as well.

“We’ll decide once we’re sure what is it that Junkrat has.” Jack paused, thinking for a moment. “Uh, it isn’t a beacon of any kind, is it?”

McCree shook his head. “I don’t rightly know. Only heard about it that one time.”

“Then we’ll have to ask him ourselves,” said Winston.

“I don’t know if he’ll talk.”

“He has to,” said Jack, though looking a little defeated. “I don’t _want_ to force anything out of him, after... today’s events... but this is important. The whole base could be at stake. We have to talk with him. We need to keep whatever he’s got safe too, if it’s something Null Sector might use against us. Think you could bring him up to the briefing room tomorrow?”

“Even if you had some kind of truth serum he still wouldn’t talk with that plan. Don’t trap him in the briefing room. I know I don’t like being in there either.” McCree thought for a moment. “I’ll talk to Roadhog first, see what the thinks.”

“You know them best. We’ll do as you say.” Jack leaned away from the table, deciding to be done with the affair for today. “There’s nothing more we can do for now. I’m going to check in on Lena and Satya.”

On his way out, Jack gave McCree a quick nod towards the door. McCree followed the soldier out of the room.

“So... how upset is he, exactly? ” Jack asked once they were a little farther from the workshop. “We could hear his bombs exploding from here.”

“Well...” McCree adjusted his hat. “Pretty upset. But he’s feeling better now.”

Jack ran his hand down his face, exhaling deeply. “I owe the kid an apology. I’ll take whatever bomb he throws at me. I’ll take it in the face.”

“He ain’t angry at anyone anymore, so... I reckon your face is safe.”

Jack frowned, as if dissatisfied with the resolution.

“You find out anything else?”

“No. Didn’t seem like he wanted to talk, so I didn’t push.”

“That’s fine.” Jack sighed, crossing his arms and turning his face upwards wearily. “Everyone’s wondering what the outburst was about. I feel horrible. The fact that he’s not angry actually makes me feel worse. I’d rather he toss a bomb at me. Or at least _try_ to.”

“If it’s hijinks you’re after, he’ll get right back to it soon enough, I’m sure.”

A blur of orange and yellow zipped past them, briefly stopped, then zipped back right in front of them. Tracer stood with her back straight and gave a quick salute.

“Just rounded the perimeter, chief!” Tracer announced with boundless optimistic energy. “There were three other omnics, but they’ve all been blown to pieces! Satya’s salvaged what she can.”

“What?” Jack responded with shock. “How?”

“Looks like they got caught in beartraps then exploded. Almost got caught in one myself. Blinked right out of it real quick.”

“Ex... Exploded...?”

“To smithereens!”

Jack turned to McCree. McCree shrugged with a smile.

“Told ya.”

Jack planted his face in his hand and let out a long, weary sigh.


	8. Bubble Memory

“I don’t know.”

“So I thought you must—Huh?"

Caws of seagulls filled the brief silence that followed. Roadhog, who was laid very relaxedly on a sunlounger, put his magazine down on his belly and turned to face McCree, who sat next to him on a similar chair.

“The only ‘treasure’ he’d ever shown me was a booby-trapped treasure chest he tried to get me to open. Right after he put the bombs in right in front of me.” Roadhog laughed softly at the memory. “Don’t know much about his actual treasure.”

“For someone who’s known him for such a long time, there sure is a lot you don’t know about him.”

“I’ve only known him for about a year.”

“ _One_ year? You two act like you could be brothers!”

Roadhog let out a deep, hearty bellow. “Wasn’t always like this. Been through a lot together since.” Roadhog put a hand on his belly, looking up at the sky. “He’s easy to understand. Just... hard to get to know.” Roadhog sat up, causing the magazine to drop to the floor. “You still want to ask him about it?”

“Yeah.”

“Definitely not something he’ll forget about. Let’s go.”

Roadhog stood up and headed for the doors—At least, where the doors _should be_ , since the balcony glass doors had not been replaced yet. Heavy tarp-like material hung over the wide gap in structure instead. McCree followed him inside.

“He, uh, prone to forgetting things?” McCree asked.

“His head’s all over the place. Mostly just needs to sit down and focus, but you know Jamie.” Roadhog faced McCree, and spoke as if his lips formed a smile. “He won’t forget you though.”

McCree looked at the man with surprise. That wasn’t on his mind... but it was nice to hear. They stepped into the elevator and pressed the button to the ground floor.

“He should remember the treasure. Enough reminders back home, everybody hunting him for it every day. Can’t forget.”

They arrived with a soft _ding_ sound. McCree followed Roadhog’s lead to where Junkrat might be at this time of day, though it was not a difficult guess. They continued the path straight ahead, down the long, long corridor to Junkrat’s workshop.

The door to Junkrat’s workshop was open. The door straight along the corridor—one that led outside to the garbage disposal area—was also open. The combination of both doors being open definitely meant that Junkrat was out rummaging through trash. Normally, this was a disgusting thought, but it was also a relief to know that Junkrat was already up and about on his usual antics.

Roadhog continued to lead the way and left through the door to the disposal area. Directly before his eyes were the dense tall forest trees that veiled the base from casual observers, walled off by a stone wall one storey high. The wall contained a rectagular area of cement floor, which was littered with various rubbish. To the left was a skip bin placed against the building. Junkrat had his head and arms in the large skip bin with feet pressed against the outer wall of the bin, curling himself into the bin much like an actual rodent would.

“Hey Hoggy!” Junkrat greeted without taking his head out, recognizing his companion by footsteps alone. He continued to toss out various trash over his shoulder. “Y’know, these people don’t throw out much at all. I swear I’ve seen that same gum wrapper six days ago. How am I supposed to make anything good, huh? I don’t wanna leave without a gift.”

“Leave?” McCree looked at the two of them with a puzzled expression. “You’re leaving?”

Junkrat pulled his head out of the bin. He grinned and waved at the cowboy.

“Hey yank!”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Roadhog asked, equally puzzled.

Junkrat’s brows furrowed, his mouth slightly agape as he tried to understand what the disconnect was.

“We... gotta leave, right?” Junkrat replied slowly, uncertain only due to the reactions he was receiving. “I mean... that’s... what we usually do. Right?”

“You usually _leave?”_ McCree questioned, increasingly irate but still very much puzzled.

Roadhog, however, planted his own face into his hand.

“We usually leave because we were _on the run._ We’re not anymore.”

“Yeah we are,” said Junkrat. “Pretty obvious the bot was comin’ after me, right? I ain’t stupid. Coulda’ taken anybody else but didn’t. We gotta go then, right? Well, _I_ gotta go, but me an’ Roadie are a two-in-one deal.”

“ _What?”_ McCree almost shouted. “Boy, what the devil are you talking about?”

Junkrat’s face scrunched up while his brain worked to think of what about his words that made the two before him so irritated.

“... Wait, is Roadie... _not_ coming with me?”

“No! No one’s going anywhere! I don’t even _know_ how ya—What do you even _think_ — _”_ McCree pointed his hand at Junkrat and looked to Roadhog. “Set the boy right, would ya?!”

Junkrat’s frown was replaced by a look of shock and cluelessness. He looked at Roadhog, and whatever it was he discerned from the masked face, it was enough to make him understand he’d done something _really_ wrong. Slowly, Junkrat climbed down from the skip, anxiously wondering what wrong he’d committed.

Roadhog shook his head. “Technically... Didn’t do anything wrong. Technically.” He turned to McCree. “Outback habit. People who took us in got in trouble for us. When they did we had to move on.”

McCree wanted to shout again—but he, if nothing else, was a man of composure. And as a man of composure, he would need to be an _understanding_ sort of man. Even if he was very much aggravated _._

“Right,” Junkrat said. He glanced at the skip bin. “So this means we’re leavin’ together or—”

Roadhog gently but firmly pressed down on Junkrat’s head with his finger, just enough to annoy the bomber.

“We’re not going anywhere,” Roadhog said to him in a scolding tone. He took a step back, and made eye contact with McCree, then nodded his head in Junkrat’s direction.

McCree was not prepared to give Junkrat a proper talking to, but it wasn’t often he was given insight for _why_ Junkrat did something, and he allowed himself at least a few more moments to consider this bit of new information.

“I reckon I... kind of understand.” McCree spoke carefully and deliberately. “I was an outlaw myself. I know there aren’t too many places you can call home. You mostly just find a spot and don’t bother anyone for a while. But you’re an Overwatch agent now. Don’t matter what you are. We used to have all kinds here, and we’re not about to change. Overwatch took me in when I was an outlaw, and they’ve become my home. You’re with us now. This here’s home. Like it or not.”

Junkrat looked at him with an expression that was a mix of wonder and incredulity. McCree waited, letting the words sink in through his thick, dense skull (It might literally be thick and dense, considering the explosions it’d survived thus far). Junkrat’s lips moved, pronouncing a single syllable. He tested the syllable again before speaking it.

“Home?” said Junkrat, looking slightly more surprised when he actually spoke the word. “Sounds... nice.”

“Then we’re done here. C’mon, stop digging through the trash and come back inside. I want to check on the patches on yer back.”

McCree walked back inside the building. Roadhog shook his head at the bomber, but planted his head on the latter’s head endearingly. Junkrat was neither embarrassed nor annoyed at the gesture. He looked lost in his thoughts.

“I... had a home once... I think.”

Roadhog lifted his hand out of surprise, but he would do nothing to interrupt the rare moments Junkrat recalled something. He let Junkrat stay in his reverie, wondering if he’ll remember more.

“ _Jamie!”_ McCree’s voice boomed from inside. “Get in here or I’ll call the doc!”

Junkrat squeaked.

“I’m coming, I’m coming!” he shouted back, barreling towards the doorway and through it.

Roadhog sighed with disappointment. He followed him inside, and Junkrat was already running into his workshop. Junkrat sat down on the floor in front of McCree, ignoring the use of the beanbags completely. Roadhog was about to take his usual spot by the couch when he spotted _green_ from the corner of his eye. He turned to see Genji, turning in from the right side of the corridor.

“What’re you doing here?” Roadhog grunted his question.

Genji shrugged. “Do I need a reason?”

Roadhog looked down the corridor behind Genji and realized it was the one that led to the disposal area. Before he could voice his question, Genji walked past him and into the workshop.

“Hey Rat!” Genji called him with a kind of mocking, but playful tone. “Guess what?”

“What, iron butt?”

“That’s a little better, but my behind isn’t metal. It is very much flesh. As is my front.”

“Yer front? What...” Junkrat’s expression immediately turned to disgust. “I didn’t need to know that!”

“But I’m just saying that my d—”

“LA LA LA! Don’t care!”

“Genji,” McCree said firmly with a roll of his eyes.

Genji let out a bellowing laugh, clearly enjoying the disgust he’d caused for the Junker. He dropped himself on one of the beanbags in the middle of the room. He crossed his arms behind his head and leaned back into the beanbag.

“Hey, this is nice.” He ran a finger over non-parallel but even seams. “You made this?”

“Roadie did,” Junkrat answered as McCree peeled at the patches on his back.

“Huh. Cool.”

Seeing that the ninja had no intention except to be a bother, Roadhog moved to his usual spot by the metal couch, and started to read a random magazine from the floor.

McCree peeled the last patch and piled them neatly on the side.

“Lookin’ good. How’s it feel?”

“Like nothing?” Junkrat replied unsurely.

“Yep, all good.” McCree eyed Genji. “You needed somethin’, Genji?”

Genji threw his hands into the air. “Do I need a _reason_ to be here? Is there an appointment book? Should I talk to the secretary? Geez!”

McCree stared at him. Genji stared back, but his expression undiscernable.

McCree smirked, adjusting his hat.

“Well, alright, alright...”

“Don’t go thinking anything stupid,” Genji warned, pointing a finger at him. He leaned back into the chair and crossed his leg over the other. “I wanted to suggest an alternative to baths.”

Junkrat’s eyes went wide as it could, and he immediately leapt to his feet. Roadhog put down his magazine. McCree gave him an inquisitive look.

“I said an _alternative_ to baths,” Genji said with emphasis as he sat up on the beanbag.

“No showers,” Junkrat quickly said.

“An alternative to baths _and_ showers.”

Junkrat looked interested in the concept, but still very much wary.

“Look,” Genji added. “I have a vested interest in you being clean because my nose is, unfortunately, still very much human. No tricks. I won’t beat around the bush with you because you’re too dense for that.”

“Oi!”

McCree thought he heard a small amused sound escape the ninja’s breath, but Genji was doing his best to appear nonchalant.

“There’s a reward if you manage to get yourself clean before the end of the day.”

Junkrat’s interest was piqued as much as it could now, all signs of caution thrown to the winds.

“Yeah?”

“Bribery, Genji?” McCree questioned.

“ _Reward,_ Jesse,” Genji replied, making a clicking sound as he imitated a pistol with his fingers at McCree. “Well? It’ll be fine, I swear. Some water, yes, but not as much as you’d think. Like washing your hands. You’ve done that at least once in your life, right?”

“Well I’ve done it more than _once,”_ Junkrat replied indignantly. “... Four times, I think.”

“Then we’re ready to go!” Genji stood up and put a hand on the bomber’s back, leading him to the door.

Roadhog and McCree exchanged glances. They hurried to catch up to the other two.

* * *

It was pretty brilliant, considering that nobody had thought of it before. The scene that accompanied the friendly splashing sounds were not one of horror as McCree had imagined. Junkrat sat cooperatively on the small plastic stool, jumping less and less each time Genji emptied a bathing ladle on him.

“See? Not so bad, right?” Genji asked.

Junkrat’s fingers played with the hem of the boxers he was made to switch out into. “I... guess? It’s... warm. Not burning or anything.”

Genji paused momentarily, confused at the word _burning_ being used for water.

“Uh, anyway,” Genji finally said. “Back home, we wash ourselves like this before dipping into this really large bath.”

“You bathe just to bathe _again?”_

“It’s really relaxing. You’ll have to try it one day.”

“Nope. No way. That's like _double_ baths.”

Genji emptied another ladle-full onto the Junker. This time, Junkrat did not have any reaction, other than watching the water flow between his fingers. He giggled.

Seeing that all was well here, McCree turned away from the bathroom and to the _other_ surprising scene that was occuring simultaneously. Jack, with his sleeves folded up to his elbows and a bright yellow hand duster in his hand. A vacuum cleaner sat unplugged in one corner of the room, and McCree recalled instantly seeing Jack vacuuming the room when they first entered earlier.

“How does anybody sleep in a room this dusty? How did it even get this dusty? Don’t we have those automatons cleaning the base?”

“I don’t think Junkrat ever input the schedule to clean his room into the system,” said McCree. “Or that he ever uses the room at all.”

Roadhog nodded and grunted in agreement while he carefully folded some clothes from a basket on the bed.

“He doesn’t?” Jack asked. He turned to Roadhog. “Then where does the brat sleep?”

“Workshop,” Roadhog replied.

“... Why?”

Roadhog shrugged. Jack looked to McCree, but the latter shrugged as well. Jack frowned, but was likely learning by now that certain things were simply inexplicable when it came to Junkrat. He resumed dusting the cabinet.

They heard the familiar ‘pop’ of the opening of a bottle.

“Ay? What’s this?” Junkrat asked. “Smells like biccies.”

“Oh?” Genji replied with a suspicious level of gentleness. “That’s a bathtime snack, so you can snack while having a bath.”

“Oooh.”

A moment passed before there was the sounds of spitting and gagging, followed far too closely by roaring laughter.

“Ya cunt!” Junkrat shouted.

“Stop fooling around in there!” Jack warned from where he was, and all potential arguments immediately silenced. Jack exhaled sharply and returned to his cleaning.

No more than a second later, streams and jets of water burst from the bathroom, and a bucket flew out and across the room, stopped only by the wall next to the cabinet. It rolled uselessly to the floor, spilling what little water it contained onto the carpet. Cursing and maniacal laughter erupted from the other room. McCree quickly popped his head in to see what was going on.

Genji held in his hands the bidet shower, his hands holding down on the sprayer’s trigger, pointing it directly at Junkrat’s face, who curled around on the steel bar of the shower curtain. Junkrat cackled as he pointed the shower head at the ninja at full blast in return. The small plastic footstool laid upturned off to the side of the bathroom, and a foam-covered sponge found itself slowly sliding down the mirror by the sink. Bottles of personal care products scattered across the floor, floating in a very shallow flood of soapy, bubbly water. Trails of some vanilla-scented gel somehow found its way to the ceiling. How all of that happened in the time span of one second was a marvel in itself.

The two must have at least sensed McCree’s presence, because they abruptly froze in their positions and turned their heads to the doorway. McCree needed to contain his laughter, but he never claimed to be the disciplined adult among them.

“WHAT DID I _JUST_ SAY?!” a voice boomed next to him. McCree recoiled from the volume, and saw it was an incredibly pissed off Jack Morrison.

The two squeaked in unison. Genji zipped past them to retrieve the abused bucket. Junkrat quickly set up the footstool again and returned to his spot. Jack exhaled wearily and walked away from the doorway. McCree picked up the shampoo bottle that had drifted to his feet.

“Bathtime snack,” he said with a smile that threatened to burst into laughter again.

Genji shrugged, pouring water to wash away the bubbly foam from Junkrat's scalp. “Not my fault he fell for it.”

“Yer a bloody arse,” Junkrat muttered, crossing his arms over his chest with a pout.

McCree chuckled, leaving the bottle by the sink. He returned to the bedroom. Jack was now putting away what few extra clothes they found for Junkrat, with one of them—A bright green knee-length pair of pants—left on the bed. It looked a lot like Junkrat’s old ones.

“Where’d you find all these clothes?” McCree asked.

“Back of my closet. Won’t miss ‘em. Might a bit loose for him, but we’ll get around to getting him proper fitting ones soon,” Jack replied. He put in the last article of clothing into the closet and, with one last satisfied look at his work, he closed the closet doors. “So... anything on his treasure yet?”

“No, we got sidetracked pretty quick, actually,” said McCree with an amused look. “Was all this your idea?”

“Nope. Genji’s.”

“Genji?” McCree and Roadhog spoke at the same time.

“Yeah,” said Jack. “Came up to me after breakfast and asked if I had any pants to spare. Said he had a way to get Junkrat clean, and... Well, I admit I was skeptical, but he was... very insistent. I gave him exactly one chance, he told me to wait here, and here we are.” He looked at the doorway with a smile.

“Huh.” Roadhog followed his gaze to the doorway. There were the small splashes of water against tiled floor, accompanied by the occassional banter between the two. “’Least he can keep clean now. Thanks.”

“You’re both with Overwatch now. We look out for each other. Personal hygiene and all.” Jack glanced at the lone pair of pants on the bed. “You sure no shirt?”

“For now. We’ll worry about that when we need to.”

Junkrat emerged from the bathroom with a towel draping from his waist. He stretched his arms.

“I feel great!” he announced with a wide smile. “A little weird, but great. Now where are me pants?”

Roadhog picked up the pants he’d put aside earlier and tossed it at the bomber. Junkrat flipped it over in his hands. Jack watched with anticipation, wondering if he would be too attached to his old pair to wear the new ones.

Junkrat shrugged. It was acceptable, much to Jack’s relief. He pointed at the closet with his thumb.

“There’s few more in your closet. And a shirt. Think about wearing one.”

“Mm. Nope.” Junkrat slid himself into the new pair of pants and tossed the towel aside. “This really feels great! I feel like I could jump on land mines all day!”

“Don’t actually do that,” McCree told him, just in case.

Genji appeared from the bathroom, drying his hands with a hand towel.

“So, Rat, now that you’re less stinky, wanna guess what your reward is?”

“Bombs!”

“Ye—Wait, what? No! Why would—You already got a ton of those, why would I give you _even more—”_ Genji shook his head. “Okay, forget it. It’s not bombs—”

“Aw.”

“—it’s bubble tea.”

Junkrat gasped, a wide grin growing on his face. Genji continued, more confident in his choice of reward now.

“Mei’s making them in the kitchen, and everyone’s—”

Junkrat gasped again, this time louder and immediately followed by him impatiently bolting out of the room.

“Truly, a simple rat,” he spoke with a feigned mocking tone that failed to hide the smile in his voice.

“Boba tea’s his favourite,” Roadhog said. “How?”

“I saw you making some yesterday. Not too difficult to make the leap.” Genji tossed the hand towel aside. “You guys coming?”

Jack shrugged. He unrolled his sleeves back down and wordlessly left for the cafeteria. Roadhog nodded with a grunt that sounded oddly grateful, and followed the soldier out.

“Yer a good fella,” McCree said to Genji.

“He deserves a chance,” Genji replied quietly. “I believe he’s not evil, as much as I believe my brother’s not evil. If... I can give Hanzo a chance, I can give Junkrat a chance.”

Genji’s gaze fell to the floor. McCree and all of the former members of Overwatch knew exactly what happened to the ninja after the brutal confrontation with his brother years ago.

“Genji—”

“And what was that talk about running away, huh? Stupid Rat thinks we’re scared of a few bad omnics coming our way? I’ll kick the omnics' asses and then I'll kick _his_ ass."

“Huh? Wait, were you—”

“ _Duh,”_ Genji walked to the door. “Now c’mon. Gotta make sure Rat won’t literally explode out of excitement.”

The ninja left. McCree smiled to himself a moment longer before catching up.

* * *

The cafeteria had enough room to hold the entire staff of a modestly sized organization, but with the current state Overwatch, they had even less staff than that, so only two of the tables were truly well used. At one of these tables, were seven of the Overwatch agents, each one with a tall, ice cold glass of boba tea, freshly brewed from a pot in the kitchen.

“This is real good, mate!” Junkrat held out the tall glass of milk tea as he addressed the woman on the other end of the table. “I love it! I thought you’d at least put poison in mine!”

“Uh, no prob—” Mei’s initial sheepish reply quickly turned into a puzzled one. “Wait, what?”

“You hate me guts, don’tcha?” Junkrat shrugged. “Oh, I don’t blame ya if ya do. Me guts been though plenty. Last guy put rat poison in me drink. Rat poison. Get it?”

Junkrat laughed. Roadhog slowly shook his head, as if he’d heard the sorry excuse of a joke a thousand times before.

“Hold on, you... actually drank rat poison?” McCree asked.

“Yeah, mate!” Junkrat spoke with excitement to tell the story. “There’s this bloke, right? Wants to sell me a bottle of boba tea. I been wanting some boba tea since I tasted it back in Junkertown, and ya don’t just _come by_ boba tea in the Outback, oh no. He’s charging an arseload but I buy it anyway. I drink it but it tastes like arse. He starts laughin’ in me face. Turns out he’s tryina’ rob me blind—well, rob me _dead_ more like—but then I puke all over him! Guy was so disgusted he ran away! I mean, he tried to. Roadie shot his face off.”

“That’s horrible,” said Tracer. “Every single part of that story is horrible.”

“I’m amazed you lived through it,” said Jack, looking to Roadhog to confirm the authenticity of the story.

Roadhog exhaled deeply.

“It was bad.”

That was all he had to say about it, and likely all he wanted to say about it.

“Well, I just...” Mei’s fingers tapped against her glass. “Thought to give you something in return. For the apples.”

“Oooh,” McCree said. “So he _didn’t_ blow up the pot.”

“What’s this about apples?” asked Tracer “I’d like some!”

“We should all have some right now!” Junkrat leapt to his feet. “Where’s Basty?”

“In the meditation room with Zenyatta,” Genji replied casually, knowing well enough to overlook Junkrat’s reaction to Zenyatta’s name—but he did sneak a glance anyway, curious if the Junker would become irate.

To his surprise, Junkrat’s expression became puzzled—As if his mind truly, truly pulled at every resource available to keep up the disconnect between Bastion and omnics. His brain might actually short-circuit at this point. Genji decided to spare him.

He stood up as well, joining Junkrat. “Hey, Rat, first one to come back with all the apples win!”

Genji leapt over the table and dashed out of the room. Junkrat was momentarily stunned before his mind snapped back to its usual state. He laughed, a mix of enthusiasm and madness, and ran after the ninja.

Mei blinked. She looked at the serving station in front of the kitchen.

“They _do_ know we have apples in the pantry?”

Roadhog, McCree, and Jack simultaneously shrugged.

Tracer smiled, though it was more due to her laid-back attitude than some learned response to Junkrat's behaviour.

“Can’t say no to fresh apples, right?" said Tracer cheerfully.

Jack brought a finger to his ear, then said, “Roger that. Be right there.”

“Sorry?”

Jack raised an eyebrow at her.

“Lena, do you not have your comm with you?”

Tracer inhaled sharply through her teeth, as if caught red-handed. Jack, knowing his team very, very well, glared at the rest with equal suspicion. Mei whispered to Tracer, perhaps the only one at the table to have their communication device at all times.

“Er,” McCree looked away with a nervous grin. “Oops?”

Roadhog was unintimidated. Jack wasn’t going to try with him.

“I know it’s off-duty hours, but try to keep it in your ear. You can’t be dependent on Athena to raise the alarm every time.” Jack turned away from the table and stood up. “Winston and Torbjorn found something from the omnics scavenged from the base’s perimeters. I need to go check it out. You kids enjoy yourselves.”

Jack waved at them, and the rest waved back as he left the cafeteria.

While they waited for Junkrat and Genji to return, Roadhog went to prepare in the kitchen, with the same ingredients McCree recognized from before. The water had just reached optimal boiling temperature when Junkrat and Genji returned, a large bowl of apples in each of their hands, arguing loudly about something utterly inconsequential. Jack would have put a stop to it. But he was not here, and McCree was hardly the type who wanted to do so.

“Oooh! Sauteed apples!” Tracer said, leaning in from the serving station and looking into the kitchen. “You know what goes great with this? Pancakes!”

“Uh,” Genji looked apprehensive. “Do you mean those super flat ones you make for breakfast...?”

“Yeah!”

“Um, maybe we could eat it with ice cream too?” Mei offered.

“Whoa! Now hold on a minute!” Junkrat looked at each of them with wide eyes. “We should eat it with _all those things!_ Fire up the grill!”

“Yeah!” Tracer cheered, jumping through the window to grab a bag of flour from the cabinets.

“Wait! Don’t actually grill the pancakes!” Mei called out, running for the door off to the side that led into the kitchen.

Junkrat laughed, following Tracer to watch her make pancakes. Genji placed his bowl of apples on the serving station counter and followed them to the other end of the kitchen. McCree looked at Roadhog, who was now peeling apples. He joined him at the prep table and picked up a peeling knife. Roadhog grunted a vague _thanks_ at him, moving on to washing the rest of the apples while McCree peeled them.

Quite soon they were at the table with a pot of sauteed apples, a plate of English pancakes, and a scoop of ice cream in each of their bowls.

“These apples are wonderful!” said Tracer with food very much still in her mouth. “We should have these for dessert for tomorrow’s dinner!”

“And maybe as breakfast too,” said Mei. “They go great with the pancakes.”

“Yeah, mate! This is awesome!” Junkrat turned to Genji. “How’s it, iron butt?”

Genji gave him a thumbs up while his other hand flicked the sauce at the bomber’s face. Junkrat jerked from the sauce attack and, although he glared at the ninja, there was excitement in his face as he picked up his own spoonful of sauce. Genji could not smile without full use of his facial muscles, the curve of his eyes alone were telling.

“Now, don’t go having a food fight,” McCree quickly put a stop to it. “Jack will have all of your behinds.”

“And yours,” said Tracer with a giggle.

“ _Especially_ mine. Let’s just have a nice, uneventful afternoon. Just this once.”

Junkrat and Genji resigned to the cowboy’s plea of peace. The meal _was_ too delicious to have a food fight with.

Perhaps drawn by the buttery smell of the pancakes and sweet aroma of the apples, Mercy appeared by the doorway, admitting feeling a little peckish, and joined them at the table.

“Mates, everyone should try this,” said Junkrat, full and satisfied from the meal of apples, pancakes, and ice cream. “Grumpy gramps and mecha gramps are missing out! And fancy hands! And gorilla!”

“Fancy hands?” Mei asked, but the process of elimination only left one possible answer. “... Satya?”

“I’m gonna bring it over to them!”

“Uh, wait, how about...” Mei quickly looked between the pot of apples and plate of pancakes, trying to get the snack to Symmetra _without_ the appearance of Junkrat putting her off the meal. “I’ll help you get a bowl to Satya, while you get a big bowl for the rest in Winston’s lab?”

“Great idea!”

Mei went to get the proper bowls and added in the servings of apples. She folded the pancakes into triangles and carefully placed them against the side of the bowl, within the sauce of the sauteed apples. She then topped it off with scoops of ice cream, puttin in three separate ones for the big bowl. She finished with putting spoons in each of them and handed to Junkrat the larger bowl.

Junkrat gave her a salute and ran out with an excited grin.

“He is so eager to share,” Mercy commented with a smile. “What a sweet young man.”

Genji gagged. Tracer laughed at his reaction. Roadhog and McCree chuckled, partly in agreement with Mercy, partly in agreement with Genji.

* * *

It was until after dinner that McCree and Roadhog decided to actually ask Junkrat about his treasure. No more distractions.

They found him in his workshop, sitting on the floor and with his hands stuffed into the insides of his RIP Tire. McCree had no idea to which capacity the tire worked, but the very sight of Junkrat working on it caused even Roadhog momentary pause in his approach.

“Hey Hoggy! Hey yank!” Junkrat greeted them with a smile, briefly removing one hand from the tire to wave.

Roadhog stopped just a few feet shy from the tire. “We wanna ask about your treasure.”

“Sure, mate. Whaddya’ wanna know?”

Well, that was easy.

“Anything you can tell us would be mighty helpful,” said McCree. “We think the omnic attack has something to do with it.”

“Ya think?” Junkrat laughed. “Nobody would have anythin’ to do with me if it ain’t for me treasure!”

Roadhog crossed his arms.

“We met _‘cause_ of the treasure,” Junkrat seemed to reply to him. “So I’m still right.”

“What _is_ the treasure?” McCree asked.

The question left his lips before he realized just how truly suspenseful it was. Junkrat did, in fact, respond within a reasonable period, but the seconds it took him to answer felt like entire days.

Junkrat shrugged.

“It’s, y’know. The thing.”

“What thing?”

“Y’know. The thing? In omniums? It’s like...” Junkrat proceeded to gesture wildly and animatedly with his hands, prehaps to simulate the size of the treasure, but from his awful charades the object may be as small as an eraser or as big as a tank. All this made sense to no one but Junkrat himself. “It does the—the _thing._ Kinda omnic-y. I think. But it’s the thing, so you know how it is.”

“Uh... no?”

“Are you serious? It’s—It’s the _thing,_ mate! Everybody’s going crazy for it! _I’m_ going crazy that _everybody’s_ going crazy over it!”

“You don’t remember its name?”

“I do! It’s... Y’know! It’s called... It’s... Bloody hell, it does _the thing!_ It’s self-exterritory! Who cares what it’s called!”

“Self-explanatory,” Roadhog corrected.

“Whatever!”

“Alright, alright,” McCree held up a hand. “We’ll know it when we see it. Where is it?”

“What? You loony? Ya think I’d have it with me? Nah, mate, I left it back in Straya!” He paused for a moment then turned to Roadhog. “I swear it’s safe.”

Roadhog merely shrugged, only grunting a response.

“So you don’t have it with you,” said McCree. “I guess that much is fine. I need to tell Jack. That alright?”

“Sure, but don’t tell him what it really is. Only me and Roadie know. And now you too.”

“Uh, no problem, partner.”

“Great! I’m gonna go to sleep. G’night!”

Junkrat carelessly dropped the tire onto its seat on one of the bean bags and went for his couch-bed. Completely unbothered by the two still in the room, he laid down, pulled the blankets and went to sleep without trouble.

“What’s ‘ _the thing’?”_ McCree whispered to Roadhog.

Roadhog sighed.

“Hell if I know.”


End file.
